Why do I even grow if the winds ******* off my humble branch?
Why do I even show my true colors If the seasons change them accordingly?
Why do I even live with love if people Are going to sweep my brothers away?
I am more than just an aesthetic.
I often wonder how leaves feel throughout the course of the year. Do they want to change their colors? Do they want to die in the winter? Do they want to grow back in the spring? I don't know. They don't talk!