(this isn't really a poem)
[For those of you who are too feeble-minded to comprehend that]
It is fall again. The leaves are falling and the winter is coming.
Much like everything else the leaves are preparing themselves to die. As they turn their beautiful shades of red, orange, yellow, and brown.. they know they are about to fall off of the tree of life.
Everyone around is dying on me and I hate it.
The fall resembles death of old living things. The leaves that were once green and lively, are now old and dying. But they do not die ugly. They die like a lot of things. More peaceful and beautiful as they ever have been.
(No one probably knows a word i am saying but that is all I could get)
