These decaying branches of trees,
Grasping what seems to be leaves,
Holding onto the branches despite the piercing breeze,
When finally they give up falling down with ease,
As it's delicate silhouette slowly winding down,
But lifted again by the wind before it hits the ground,
As it lastly falls onto the others without a single sound,
I look around me as my heart begins to pound,
Looking down at the dead leaves I see before me,
I wonder how many lives the branches had tried to save,
For each leave is a living soul holding onto a tree,
But the cold bare ground locates it's grave,
I then again wonder about the dead leaves I loved,
Crushing them as I stomp carelessly on the land,
One day these leaves below me will be six feet above,
As I lay dead beneath the ground where these trees stand
-J.S.
