Death of the Leaves

As my thoughts transform into dreams in a vast sky.
The barren trees lack our need to question why.
Although one tree bled scarlet berries,
invisible wounds very, from the severed leaves.
But the earth had seasons to achieve.
Leaves consumed in color naively fall,
joyous to be free.
They know not of decay, and that beneath a snow drift
they will stay.
In a starless abyss, an onyx void
Until buds of spring burst with joy.
The trees need not grieve.
For they have already forgotten
the death of the leaves.