Oak Tree Lane

Autumn leaves dangling blindly with hopes of hanging on as to not fall to the earth below
Praying to stay afloat as if to be cast out into the ocean surrounded by nothing but the horizon in every which way
Weeping willows cry for the leaves that die in autumn
The breeze, swiftly taking them to their journey to another population of admirers who collect that which they call beautiful
Those gazing upon the oak trees
Inhaling its woodsy aroma that slithers along like an aromatic smoke curling its finger to hypnotize
Transfixed on the trees
Ah, the aesthetically pleasing trees
The leaves don't find it pleasing --
All they see is the others who've met their demise on the brownish greenery below
While others smile with glee that autumn is here