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This leaf is not coping well,
Despite seeing spring turn to summer.
The shift makes fate look all the dumber:
Stubbornly reviving a verdant shell
Around a single person's hell.
This leaf dies young, what a bummer...

Should I struggle or undergo it all?
This visible loss of reason,
This visceral change in season...
Bleak skies should foreshadow fall,
My fall...
But outside summer skies are still a teasin'.

But this leaf still has places to go,
Even if leaves are of significance devoid.
In my recent nightmares I have seen
A destiny I wish to avoid:
To turn rotten before passing green,
To shrivel before my chance to grow.

Don't ask this sore leaf why or how
But the weather means so little now.
I just ask for all the seconds I can get.
Wind be still, be still as death
I hear your whistle and beg your breath
Not to scrape me off this tree just yet