When the first leaf fell, 
It must have hurt the tree, 
For it must have sensed, 
a change in its destiny.

One by one, the dry leaves fell
Surrounding the tree, as if it still belonged.
The tree, unshaken, stood its ground
As if shedding a traitor, from its bond.
  
The leaves may have cursed, 
But the tree let them go, 
It knew it was time for it to grow.
A million leaves couldn’t reverse 
The hope that it would show. 

A new season, a new reason 
Life unfolds, unhurried, slow. 
It trusts the process, 
For the new will overflow, 
Replacing the old, standing tall, 
Hoping, even through the winter’s call. 

The fallen leaves, a burst of colors,
A sight that makes the tree glow. 
The colors of fall are proof enough
That fall is essential for growth to show. 

The tree stands firm, with all its might, 
Awaiting spring’s warm, golden light. 
It trusts the cycle, with all its rhyme, 
Winter’s chill was just the test of time.  

.    .    .