in the winter, orange leaves
will fall from old forgotten trees
that do not know what they can help you with.
And the wind will blow so cold
like your cruelest friends, so old,
the ones you are so yearning for right now.
Red and brown, it comes and takes
the comfort that the Summer makes.
We remember that we are just skin and bones.
Grey and blue, the things that Dew
It does to us the things it must:
It keeps us tied together in our holds.
Yellow tries and grey will die
and hopefully we’ll all survive.
Somehow all the flowers will still bloom.