As they fall from the trees, I see them change colors.

They're calling them leaves, I define them as brothers.Cause when they fall to the ground, I'm helping them up.Being them up back up to the peace that the wind'll disrupt.If they're looking for help I let them know that I got them.And every time that we fall, I relate it to autumn. Our branches will grow, and our stumps will get bigger.But what happens to those that start leaving the picture?They float in the air and disperse in directions.And the place where they land will catch our attention.Now where ever they are is our lasting impression.An unknown area that holds no extension.Most will land on the ground, some will chill on the fence.Some will float to the park and probably land on a bench.Or on the shoulder of a hobo and live with the stench.Or chill with a squirrel going nuts with no wrench.Or on the floor of an alley in darkness and gloom.Lying flat on the ground with nothing to consume.Hoping that a miracle will save them from doom.Energy's gone, they're running on fumes.Feeling condensed with no space, hoping for room.Trying to find life, instead of a tomb.That's when the clouds 'll open up and the sun 'll shine through.So metaphorically speaking the light is in you.It ignites with your might and inside as It grew.It's always been there, but you recite it as new.Mountain peak goals, but didn't climb with a clue.Just sat back, and saw time as it flew.Like an infant in sand, drawing lines with it's shoe.Never voiced your opinion, just miming it through.This is the voice of autumn, you probably don't understand me.There's a tree that you come from, we call that Family.