She prepared to shed her coat of leaves, for she was a tree.                                                                                                               Her eyes fixed on tomorrow, her lips quivering with the chill of an autumn air; her soul caught lingering on past desires.
But she was only a tree;                                                                                                                                   Feelings were unnecessary, desires impertinent.
Her eyes swung closed, her lashes fluttering,                                 “I am but a tree”, she muttered.                                                                                                                                                          “I am only a tree.”                                                                                                                                                                                                  “I know my place and I must fulfill the duty that which is mine.”                                                                                                                So as the wind whipped around her, slowing picking up its pace, she found her place in times unyielding hands.
Solemn tears made their path from her gossamer lashes down to the bottom of her cheeks.                                                                                          Each was rough and course, yet thin and delicate.                              Each carried a burden, each showed a vibrant color slowly dulling, graying into darkness.                                                           
They danced about in a vibrant show, few parading around with their colored exterior, most darkened to a bitter brown.                                                                                                                                                              They twirled about, almost excited, unknowing that their happy lives were to end in a void of endless slumber.
They fluttered one by one from her barren cheeks and followed their path to the ground.  

Back and forth; to and fro they wandered, until they rested, ready to blanket the dying earth.
She was only a tree and no more, or at least she was like a tree.
Living always but for now, preparing for her autumn slumber, readying still for her fall death.