break off their golden
bright leaves when it suits
them. And the red rose
drops its petals as it

hangs its head low. And the acorns
fall from the sky as the robin flies
heading south for the winter. And bark
on the branches splinter. And day

grows black as night, as the sun
skips out of sight.  So, why do I
hold on?  The trees are bare
and sun gone. Every flower bloomed

has died. Even the emerald
green grass had dried and turn
to seed.  So, why don't I take
their lead and leave you?