Falling

The fragile leaves falling to the ground,
They bump the pile below, but not a sound
Is heard from the whispering of the breeze,
Falling, floating, flying,
Drifting through the trees,
Oh, to be silent in peace, joy, and love,
To be peaceful like the birds above,
With Autumn leaves falling and the smell of fresh rain,
Oh, to not be in pain,
I began to feel my roots release,
The sound of chainsaws began to increase,
First the harsh cut through my old wood
Next the fall of my branch and these people understood,
Not only do I provide the oxygen for them,
but the beauty of nature is within my hazel stems,
falling, crashing, dying,
I saw the people buying,
Not just my old branch but into paper,
Maybe this was for the better and greater