Fall Leaves

The other night I was just chillin' outside writing in my journal and I decided to write another poem.

I watch in wonder as the leaves fall down all around me--
The trees have changed--no leaf remains the same.
If I were a leaf what color would I be?
Would I be green and young, or brown and old?
Would I be a beautiful magenta, or a shade of gold?
The leaves keep falling--spiralling down.
The colors create a rainbow on the ground.
Why should I be a leaf? Why not be a tree?
Why should I drop, why should I fall, why shouldn't I remain the same?
I could stand like a tree--forever strong and true,
Constant and firm, always in Heavens view.
But if I were a tree, what would be my leaf?
What do I drop? What do I let fall?
What about me changes, becomes beautiful, then dies?
Perhaps they don't fall because they're dead.
Perhaps they fall because it's their time, nothing more.
Perhaps they sacrifice for the tree to make room for new leaves.
Year after year, new leaves grow. They stay with the tree, then go.
Does the tree miss them, those leaves of yesteryear?
I think so. But the tree is wise. He knows the reason.
He doesn't go against nature, but continues the flow.
So year after year this cycle repeats.
Why be a leaf? Why be a tree? I think I am both.