The winters were here,
It was time, for flowers to bloom.
It was time, for new to replace the old.
It was time that the tree shrugged off the old leaves to bear a new ones.
So, the tree shrugged it off, like the leaf meant nothing to it.
It was cold, chilly cold. Cold enough with no remorse.
Because winters were near.
The tree has hurt the leaf, the once beloved green leaf, which is now pale yellow.
Or brown I say, it wasn't flexible like it once was.
It hurt the leaf, the idea of letting go
It crunched it's inner soul if it ever had one