The leaves are lying, like the trees have been crying.
Not just any tears but a profusion of fears.
Although they have been given up upon, their new
life has just begun.
The leaves now rustle and bustle like never before,
taking new flight from the cold winds of November.
Colorfull and bright, although having taken leave from
the mother of their birth, the leaves have already sur-
rendered to the susurrations of the night.