The wind rushes through the trees,
bending them low to the ground
Chimes dance in rhythm to the music they sing,
drifting aimlessly down,
into the depths of the earth they fall,
fading deep into the dark,
leaving one wistful memory
that carves itself into my heart.

It's not the aging that frightens me.
It's learning to let go of the past.
As the trees release their autumn leaves,
they know their loneliness won't last.

If only we'd learn from the wind and the trees.
If only we would listen.
They whisper their secrets;
they're willing to share.
But nobody hears them.
Nobody cares.
I watch in silence as their stories unfold.
Why do I feel so frightened, so cold?

The wind and the trees beg to show me the way
to bend with the changes,
to lean and to sway,
so that I, too, will have
stories to tell
and someone who'll listen
as the leaves of my life
dance in the wind
and their story and mine
come together again.