They were once thriving,
nurtured by the warmth of the sun and water from the clouds.
A strong, healthy greenery turned weak and brittle, replaced by red, orange, yellow, and brown.
The wind ripped them away as gravity pulled them down.
Disintegrated into dust, who will remember the leaves before the frost?
When they breathed life into the air,
and fed the earth as they fell there.
|When they warned of change and exposed the trees, giving in to the breeze.
What happens when the last one falls?
Will nature remember the life she birthed,
each leaf, each petal on the earth?
Or will she forget when winter comes?
Her cycle of seasons, with a purpose for death, to bring about a new fresh breath.
To change the past and start again.
But who will remember that life back then?
How do new buds grow and already know what to do?
Is it in their core, or do they remember their life before?