The tree outside my window has started to shed

the green chlorophyll, that we love to kill

fading to an insipid canary colour.

the leaves that adorned it, droop ever so slightly

lethargically passing the last of its days.

in less than a month, they would be nothing more

than yellowed scraps sizzling

under the force of my feet.

And slowly but steadily, they would be replaced

by another set of emerald blades.

the oldest things can come to an end

the most ancient traditions die out.

medieval concepts are quick to replace,

and bygones stay bygones throughout

life is like a never ending cycle where the old

must go for the new to come

i watch like the aged leaves of the tree outside my window

they call it shedding

but I call it life.