The yellow crinkly leaves falling off the tree,

Remind me somewhat of us,

And the black bird singing,

Which croaks her pain at dusk.

The dry branches of the tree,

Shouldn’t they remind you of me?

Let it hang on for a while,

Then what’s ‘us’ and what’s ‘we’?

I’m the wings,

I helped you fly,

But when the thunder comes,

I’m the first to burn; tell me why?

Just like the ‘Grandpa Tree’ outside my window,

I’m afraid to tell you “No”,

But if I don’t,

You’ll use me then let me go.

I’m like a puzzle,

Realising you aren’t my missing part,

I’ll wait for the one who is,

I still have that place empty in my heart.

The yellow crinkly leaves falling off the tree,

Remind me somewhat of us,

And the black bird is me,

Croaking her pain at dusk.