The spinning leaf falls,
beneath the oak, the ground calls.
Mother earth, her nature enthrals,
though some recoil appalled.
The leaf knows all.
The spinning leaf catches her fickle breeze,
tumbling through the world with ease.
The wind in all her beauty,
caresses deep in ambiguity.
She knows not the way, only free spirit and duty.
The warmth of the sun shapes,
patterns of the world, mother Earth abates.
The fickle wind flows,
the spinning leaf she blows.
Back to the earth, it goes.
Decomposition, the fate that awaits us all.
The truth, their circle of life is not merely the fall.
The ground it meets,
death it greets,
nutrients for life it completes.
Beneath the great oak tree,
It bequeaths the key.
Earth, sun, and sky.
Our world they comprise.
This leaf will die.
Though this leaf will die,
the great oak shall thrive.
New life that springs from every fall,
A secret to us all,
Before we spring, we all must fall.
The secret of the falling leaf,
to all it may bequeath.
The tree of life,
alive.
