Holding by a thin tether,
Grasping to the limb of a tree.
Surrounded by others like me;
I'm unnoticed but content.
And I feel pretty, so I’m okay.

A breeze with a bite blows in.
I don’t feel the same.
I don’t look the same.
In only a few days,
I don’t recognize myself.
But others call me pretty, so I’m okay.

One by one they leave me,
And some finally start to see me.
They know my time is short;
I know my time is short.
I let go.

The autumn rain beats me into the ground.
My veins bleed mud through my body.
No one can see me.
I don't feel pretty.
I don't look pretty.
But if you remember I was pretty,
I'll be okay.

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