The man who planted trees

The leaves that flutter, and float from your head
You search the ground for the thoughts you have bled
The ground is littered with reds and yellows
Like the goodbyes that you wished were 'hellos'
Again the green comes, as the blossoms bloom
The roots near the ground take frost like a flume
Feeding the old tree, bleeding it to life
Sometimes you forget: it's hard, but all right
Each branch designed as your own unique thread
You search the ground for the thoughts you have bled