Changing of the Season

 Hope clings to me like a leaf to a tree,
There for a season, but away with the breeze.

Soon after the air grows crisp and cold,
My branches wither and my roots grow old.

Like an under watered plant I begin to wilt,
My color is drained and my trunk hollow with guilt.

Like clockwork spring rolls back around,
Life comes again as trees spring up from the ground.

And

Even though all trees Eventually die,
They never fail to touch the sky.

Pain is in life but it has it's reason,
Keep in mind, it's just the changing of the season.