The winds howls at me
Shrieking for me to give up
But I hold my place on the tree
It twists and pulls me
Trying to drag me
From my place on the tree
But I stand firm firm
I do not let it win
It screams in rage
For it wants to win
But it's not yet time for me
To be pulled from my place on the tree
I start to become brittle
Brittle and brown
Weathered and worn out from my fight
It's finally time
So I allow the wind to take me
From my place on the tree
1 comment:
hmmmm... very fitting for autum.
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