It's autumn and we are all
falling one by one,
the green is lost to us
and we are all different
in color.

"We are of little faith," I hear
your voice in the wind.
Yes, we are of little faith.

A child has no weapons,
it is thrown empty-handed
into the world.

But now we all need protection.

Once we used sticks and stones
to protect what was ours,
but what was once ours is
no more, the tree is lost to us--
there is no security...

only death.