On the Legacy of Leaves

This is a Poem I wrote about 3 yrs ago... I entered it in some contests and It is probably a work in progress, but it is still a very important poem to me.

The Legacy of Leaves

These withered hands that built the Earth

Are cupped to offer all their worth
To we Young Buds who come from birth;
Into a world of strife and sin
Of trees that rattle in the wind
To shake the old leaves down
So to cast them on the ground
While young buds sleep safe and sound
In cradles of blissful ignorance;
Blanketed by sheer innocence

Into leaves we young buds grow
However, little do we know,
As those old leaves are drying brown
We just neglect to hear the sound
Of their voices
Rustling in the autumn breeze.

It seems the farther that we stray
The more those old leaves have to say
And now that they will soon be dust,
Our deed to listen is a must
This tragic circle we
can defeat
By ending history’s repeat
So next time winds blow listen well
For leaves have many things to tell
And these are lessons to behold
That prove more valuable than gold.