Leaves

Written in my drunk state

They grow big and frail

Small and strong

They die and fall

Before crunched under feet

Tires and wind

They grow on the branches

Some high and some low

Green, Brown, yellow, Orange

Why is it that

The things that are dying

are the most beautiful

The things we cherish the most

Cherish it while it's still here

Not mere weeks or days before it leaves

They grow big and frail

Small and strong

But the green is just as beautiful

as the brown, yellow

And orange

(This made no sense. Sorry.)