We are but leaves on a branch;
We take beatings from the wind,
But we flow with it too.

Leaves may fall, or they may decay.
Some may not feel the sun's rays.
Yet indeed we persist everyday.

Consider the leaf that sways,
On a particular day.
Those leaves began to turn gray.

The luster began to fade,
But on that branch it remains.

Living in the trash
That another made.
....

Thank you for reading.