The Aging Tree

The green sheet falls gracefully to the ground.
It prances all about with the poise of a ballerina,
Pirouetting and twirling to the cadence
Of the belligerent winds.
It sings to me with a heavenly voice,
A flurry of tones and pitches funnel into my ear,
But its foe continues to shout and cry.
The dissonant screams compliment
The angelic sheet,
Creating harmonious melodies that supplant
Those of Chopin.
It brushes with the green strokes of a bird’s wing
and juxtaposes the
Once-Blue, but now Hellish-Red sky.
I view it with envy as it creates beauty,
While I wither and my stems crack.
Something chops at my being
As if it were a crippled, senile tree;
It falls, creating an odious boom.
The stupid leaf hits the ground finally,
And I crush it with my foot.