Leaves fall off the trees,
raining down like rubies and diamonds
beautiful in all their color.
Time passes and the trees sit bare,
stripped of their splendor
and dormant til spring.

Time plays its roll,
a harbinger of life and death,
bringing with it the ceasing of winds
and the gentle brush of new breath.

We fear it’s signs and ticking clocks,
and race to beat it’s buzzing timer;
but time continues to flow,
and we hate that without it
we would cease to be.

But the trees continue to flow and blow
in the ever-present wind,
content in their today
with no fear of tomorrow.