My friends are leaves
The tree, their anthology,
From their green buds,
Will grow bitter fruits.
The fresh spring breeze
Weakens and lasts only for a time,
Replaced by the summer’s heat,
Of my friends the tree is dressed.
The sap of life rises to its top
On my friends the summer wind breaks,
But, suddenly, the breeze chills
Its cold breath hardens and sours.
Autumn is here, my friends are dying,
Their departure amazes me with its colors
My friends have left, taken away by winter,
Their life seems to have started only yesterday.
The poor tree, now bare,
Throws its branches to heaven as in a cry,
Hoping for the return of finer days,
It dresses itself in white velvet.
My friends are leaves,
And the tree shelters their casket,
To life the tree is reborn,
From their remains it feasts.
