They live a life like ours
But they leave in the dark
They accent the beauty of flowers
They blow away to make their mark

In the cold days they leave the trees
Standing in the ice all bare
Wishing for a blanket of leaves
But life can only be fair

As they fly away to the sounds of the winds
Their call to make
And many die day by day
By the end they will break

And these leaves they breath
And there souls will flee
The branches they have freed
These leaves are me.