The leaves of the seasons are changing again
From their lushes green color to that of orange and red
The winds all pick up and rip them from home
As they swirl and tumble to the stone cold ground
The sun it sleeps in, not wishing to rise
And off to bed early, to prepare for the days
The rain bashes the trees, turning them so cold
As their haven falls to their very own roots
Leaving them to suffer another white year
In which their protection is gone leaving them bare
And another season that comes and goes
Will leave a mark upon their beloved oak skin
The white will then begin to disappear
As the sun wakes early, and falls asleep late
Allowing the lushes green leaves to reform
Bringing to haven to the scarred oak trees below
