The leaves on the trees sings.

The leaves on the tree sing. 

In your hand, you hold my soul, and it sings a tune without words and never stops at all. But the sweetest thing is in the gale I heard. Then there must be a storm, and you are always there to keep me warm. So why am I here? Did I do you wrong? I can hear the rustle of the leaves as I walk along. They sing there song. But they sing for you, not me. All I have left to give you is a crumb from me.