Little hymn of broken leaves

The walnut tree in the yard was old.

My mom hired a lumberjack, who

Would later arrive with a quite bold

And slightly annoying attitude.

He started with the smaller branches,

So we could portion the wood later

On, when he would be done with the job.

I was crying, because I missed the 

Old walnut tree. And its flying leaves

Encircled me, the last embrace, both

Comfortable and anonymous: meek.

What I did not know, that feeling,

The little hymn of broken leaves, which

They muttered in my ears was simply: change.