I saw a leaf, torn from the branch,
That clung to the others — refused to fall.
Held by its brothers
And even embraced,
It longed to stroke them one last time in farewell.

A fatal wind blew from the valley,
And the maple shook the unfortunate one with its hands.
It forgot its son,
As if it had never been a father —
Forced it to perish.

I can do nothing for you, little leaf —
I too hang on a withered stem.
We shall meet again, there, beyond the little hill,
On the way to eternity, on a slippery little bridge.