The Leaves On The Bench

I saw a bench,

In the park,

Under a tree,

That was carved.

The bench had leaves fallen from the tree,

Some were red,

And some were green.

I wonder how many stories,

They had witnessed together,

Of happiness and smiles,

Of loss and closures.

I sat on the bench,

And counted the leaves,

The count of the red,

Being less than the green.

So I assumed maybe the tree shed a red one for every heartbreaking story,

And a green one for even the tiniest of victory.

I wondered if it would shed a green for me,

I wondered if it would shed a red for me.

A green for my optimistic might,

Or a red for my repudiating insight.

I saw a bench,

In the park,

Under a tree,

That was carved.

The bench had leaves fallen from the tree,

The count of red being less than the green.

So I assumed maybe the tree shed a green one for every moment of happiness it saw,

And a red one for each matter of sorrow.

 So my heart could believe there's more smiles than frowns in the world,

There's more hope than worries in the world.