The wind takes a few,
the Earth holds onto some..
Some fly away..
Some fall to the ground..
Through the heat of summer,
monsoon showers, and cold winters..
Some are picked up,
and become a perfect skeleton amidst a book..
Some lay strewn, laid out to die
turning into fossils as a proof of life..
They're all the same..
Some change color..
They all age..
They all want to fly high,
and be carried far..
All of them exist..
Some of them live..
Like peas in a pod we aren't,
like leaves of a tree we are..
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