Vanquished or Delayed

In mute surrender stand the oak leaves in the snow,
a regiment in early winter's frigid hold
stark oak leaf fingers twisted, pointing to the sky;
Would besieged leaf be beat by sun or cold?

Restlessly the atmosphere by moment changed,
quick melt left dark leaf pliable, target of the blow.
No longer in orderly position arranged,
now in abject collapse before his foe.

Again the impetuous,unfeeling autumn breeze,
lifts the leaves from the damp grass, a whirling dance,
only in line for forecast, snow on trees,
of all that is still not done, his final chance.

Now, wait, what important things still lie ahead;
snow-garnished pumpkins lie uncarved in the field.
Roses are not covered in the flower bed,
That last snow forecast should be, perhaps, repealed.