In the fall you notice leaves
that are hanging on the trees,
noisily moving in the gentle breeze.
All the leaves hang lowly
through the night
as if they’re poisoned,
the leaves and trees alike.
They are dying slowly,
yet as if they were imprisoned,
and have the need to fight.
Now as you sit there,
you look outside and see
that I’m watching you closely,
you know not what I’m thinking,
you know nothing of my pride.
It all happens so naturally,
you need to run and hide.