The Day, Autumn

The day, autumn, when trees change,

Leaves are pushed for the newborn’s fame,

Cut, cut, cut, the leaves fall down,

One by one, they all fall down.

Always stepped on as if they weren’t there,

At other times, they float in the air.

Cool, calm, without a care.

Rattle, rattle, they fall to the floor,

Not one, not two, but many more.

The leaves are trampled, broken into air,

Laid under trees without a care.

As the newborns replace their spot on the tree,

But it doesn’t matter, as they can't stay as they be.

Some are unlucky and get their tree cut down,

But some are lucky with theirs being healthy and brown.

Some are still pure and green,

Yet most are pigs, as they’re brown and unclean.