It was but an early August morning, and yet you fell, leaving the last traces of your life oozing yellow upon the forest floor. And I watched helpless, as from the canopied heights you fell. Why so early my sweet friend? Did you not wish to wait for the red autumn to course through your cold veins? Was this your way to gently go, early and unnoticed, as above the sunlight fought to make its way through?
I shall never know. I only know that I was there, to see you fall. I know that in time, this floor shall be covered with the remains of your brothers and sisters who now so blissfully sway the day away. Do they realize what is coming? Do they chill come evening with the thought?
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