Tripping on Dead Leaves

I sometimes trip over the dead leaves,
the ones that are orange and bright red,
I always jump right back up, though,
confused, but mostly embarrassed.
I look down to spot the culprits,
but the breeze has already come,
giving them gentle refuge faraway,
too far out of my arms reach.

When an explanation is asked,
who do I blame, what do i say?
what do I say?-The truth?
oh the pain of being naked.

It was a tree root,
it's this poor trail,
these old boots,
I sigh relief.