On the walk of the great, grand autumn park
A leaf so frail fell into the dark.
And so its journey away from that great, grand oak
Began when the sinister winds spoke.

The orange color dropped down on the solid ground,
Cracking, cracking, that maddening sound!
And in the fear of the darkened sky
The leaf will slowly fall, wilt, and dry.

The frail leaf waits for the autumn day,
A maddening task with a saddening way
The frost of the night cuts through the orange leaf,
As it wishes and hopes for sweet, sweet relief.
The next day comes, and figures walk by

The next day comes, and figures walk on by,
Stepping on the leaf, not caring if it will die.
And so the soul of that leaf that idles in despair,
Lets go of its life without a single care.

Though it came from the great, strong, mighty oak,
It spoke within its fear, and in fear, it spoke.
No matter the strength of the place that began its life,
Leaves fall and die with saddening strife.

If the leaf were to stay in the oak’s adamant hand,
It would receive a terrible reprimand.
But if it had stayed through that ordeal,
It would have lived in comfort so true and very real.