The seasons come and go. Leaves on the trees, They fall off, And crumple up, And die. I often feel the urge To be a leaf. To fold in And give up. In fact I feel it now. Yet, summer is near And if all the leaves On all the trees Will soon be green again Then I too shall live And thrive Yet another summer Yet again. So here's to summer Here is to living after death Being a leaf Certainly isn't so bad In the end.