Folk Song Lyrics

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I recently came upon an old English folk song that had a really beautiful melody. I played it back and listened to the words, and for me they raise a moral issue of equating human and plant life. I sing folk songs. I am wondering if, as a Catholic, I should sing this song. Here are the lyrics - does anyone see them as morally objectionable or am I just being too picayune?

Title: What’s the Life of a Man

As I was a walking one morning at ease
A viewing the leaves as they fell from the trees
All in slow motion appearing to be
And those that had withered, they fell from the trees

If you’d seen the leaves just a few days ago
So beautiful and bright they all seemed to grow
A frost came upon them and withered them all
A storm came upon them and down they did fall

Chorus:
What’s the life of a man any more than the leaves
A man has his season, so why should we grieve
Though all thru this life, we appear fine and gay
Like the leaves we will wither and soon fade away

If you look in the churchyard, there you will see
Those that have passed like the leaves from the trees
When age and affliction upon us do fall
Like the leaves we must wither and down we must fall

Chorus:
 
I don’t see anything unwholesome about the lyrics. Death comes to us all, its a fact of life. As Christians, we have no reason to fear death nor to see it as evil. Indeed, we, and those who have preceded us, will find greater happiness on the other side of the grave.
 
I think the singer is reflecting on the cycle of life, which he can see before him each year. Although a human life is much longer, in its own way it is equally as fragile, and compared to eternity is is just as short.

But it probably isn’t meant to be theologically deep, I suspect it just means what it says.
 
I can imagine Bob Dylan singing this song. Wonder if that has ever occurred.
 
I don’t see anything wrong with it. It seems the writer is using examples in nature to describe his human condition. In psalms I believe we are likened to grass!

Psalm 102:11

My days are like the evening shadow; I wither away like grass.
 
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