Down to Death

The dark night winds, Blew the oak trees down, Into the hole where all, Of it's sorrows could be found. And when the poor, poor, leaves, Fall from the one they love, They all begin to see, What horrors lie above. The falling never ends, The screaming will not cease, The leaves will try to fend, For their magnificent beast. Though innocence is pure, The trunk will always know, That all the small ones mirror, Where it's mind used to go. A land of happiness, And joys and wonders, too, This is what suits it best, Though it will never come true. For as it begs to fly, It knows that they shall perish, The innocent leaves die, Leaving a bloody awful mess.