Sometimes the wind blows the leaves,
Directly off of the trees,
And tosses them to the cold ground,
With very little to no sound
The leaves eventually dry and decay, and into the ground make their way
To complete the circle of soil,
Without a though of turmoil.
Do we remember the trees labor
And the way they did us a favor
By shading us in the summer heat
And roots tickling our feet.
Do the trees care about the payoff
The effort to releaf, just to fly off
We appreciate the shade while it’s there,
But always remember, is may dissapear