Walking down the path, when the leaves turn brown and grown,
They know they have to fall, but their sadness is never shown.
The softness of the leaves is gone, replaced by a crisp, rough sound,
The ones that are left will eventually crash down.
The tree moves on, with the new green leaves,
Leaving behind the old ones in heaps.
This is the reality the leaves will have to face:
The fresh green ones will always take their place.