I’ve been trying to figure out
If leaves have a life of their own.
When they fall are they simply done?
Do they just get blown with the wind
Or do they navigate?
When they leave home is that the beginning of the end
Or an escape?
Are they individual
Or are there too many to possibly distinguish?
It only hits pause on the fun
Before the rest realise they
Need to make the most of their time,
Especially if it involves making a dime
We understand the crunch under our feet
Means they’re gone but we don’t mind,
They weren’t ours to think of.
And it’s probably more kind
To chop down the tree when it stands empty
Then to let it live without family,
But the tree is the only one that really understands the loss.
Despite the others moving in empathy,
It’s impossible for them to care
As much as they make out they do.
When a leaf is loose
It may fly for a while
Until eventually it spirals down,
As sad as the end of a good song
And the tree from which it came
Can only stand so long