Amber colored leaves,
On a dried dying tree.
Are craving for a shower,
To breath properly.
The birds no more cherish the tree,
And the branches
No more remember their tweet .
The leaves are book willing
To leave the tree,
The know it won't be alive
Until the next autumn breeze.
The spring may wither
The soul of this tree.
The tree remembering
His every blossom,
May perish in peace,
Under the golden flames of sins
Which were never his.
