By Aiden Rose
My family is an old tree in the autumn breeze.
My mother is the trunk,
She holds the tree together,
While she, herself, is starting to fall.
My father is the leaves,
Though jagged around the edges,
He is full of warm colors that don't always show.
My best friend is the cool wind,
Gently carrying the fallen leaves in her breeze.
I am the leaves that have fallen,
Hoping that when the breeze lifts me high,
I will see my tree as it used to be.
A/N: I don't really like this one, it was just for a Lang. Arts assignment, and I can't find anything else to post. And, yes, Aiva is the friend I'm referring to. She says hi. Reviewers get snickerdoodles. Flamers will be mocked and publicly humiliated.