They fall from the trees with a silent crack,
You could hear it if worldly noises lack.
Flying with the gentle breeze along the roads,
Like someone searching for a mate holding boards.
Water drops from the trees fall on the dead corpse,
As if they are crying out for the unique loss.
On the green grass they lifelessly lie,
Who could change the destiny, not let them die?
The drops of dew cling to them tight,
Never fading are memories of their fight.
Snow covers them like flowers on a grave,
Soldiers of environment they are very brave.
Whispers come from the grass at night,
Wonder what they have to say about their plight.
Assume they want us to quit weeping
And be happy for the now living.
-Mildew
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