The leaf sways back and forth
holding on with all its might
staying on until the last
and yet, with fall it loses.

The warm summer breeze slowly turns to something colder, darker.
And all the leaves turn brown, lest they **** the tree.
But we stay warm, wearing things
that we may not grow ourselves.

As days get shorter,
winds blow colder,
scarves are worn,
the trees I loved so dearly in the spring,
stopped waving at me.

So long we wait, hoping
for the first rays of sun
that tell us spring is almost here.
But when it comes, we all forget
why we were waiting.