A leaf falls.
The tree swayed the leaf.
He didnt compromise.
It was a avenge with the wind.
For the flattery.
For the mock created.
Upright, into his own business.
He had stood still.
He had grown, over all these years.
Against all odds.
Now is different.
The season changed.
And did the poor wind.
She the wind did not know.
For it would change the heart of the summer.
She did her part.
The tree isnt giving up we know.
The monsoon calm and patient awaits.
the drill of nature.
The wind blowed and the tree shook.
The leaf was just learning to grow old.
He had turned brown.
Weathered by light and the dark.
The hustle did not last for the aged leaf.
He gave away to the call of nature.
He shot himself down the air.
Into the lane for a change.
He is now no more a leaf.
He is a manure.
He might turn into ashes.
He might die and rot in the mud.
Either way,
the tree won.
The wind passed.
And the season changed.
