The come of fall and slowly the masks of the trees fade away. Unable to conceal their crooked nature.
Then winter arrives and covers the wicked branches with sheets of beautiful snow and beauty is theirs again.
Spring comes, the beauty fades. And the cycle begins a new. The tree know's he has no aesthetic value,
No chance to spread far and wide, and so his mask of flowers once more come.
The masks people wear. Pretend to be strong. And for some, who's masks are so thick and off to much volume, there is no longer a man within his masks.
The weak shall overcome and soread
