Little Autumn Leaf

A little boy,
With arms too small for his sleeves.
He's only half the size he should be,
But he still envies the autumn leaves.
   Their visible veins,
And their tiny stems.
What beauty they have,
While his life nears its end.
   He does not eat,
Nor does he hydrate.
The cold comes in,
And the birds migrate.
   Skinnier and weaker he gets,
But his view does not change.
He might be almost dead,
But he's living in society's chains.
   The youngest of ages,
Are already conformed.
Maybe his bitter end,
Will be the world reformed.