Awaiting the Fall

Barren branch awakens me in budding green,
Pushes me out on slender stem
To tremble in the heights,
Slow unfurling of paper-thin self;
I sigh and turn my face toward sun;
Expendable,
Minor minion of a multitude;
One small leaf feeding a greater horde
In light-dappled shadow,
Tickled by the passing breeze,
Battered by the storm.
Will I be miscarried too soon,
Cast away by wind or rain,
Or shall I instead remain
To find glory in scarlet dying days
And in the autumn fall?

(2nd place in "Master Weaver of Words Contest".)