The Cycle

LeavesYou’re finished
Your job is done
You’re old
Wrinkled
And discolored
You perform no longer
As efficiently
As in your green youth
The world will sweep you
Hide you away
Cursing the final chore
And then forget you

Oh, I may be old
But my work’s not done
I was raised to the sky
By my forebears
And though I now fall
I will be the nutrients
To let my children rise
My form will join
The rich soil
And through the tree
In that soil
I will once again
Reach the sky

Fall Leaves

11 thoughts on “The Cycle

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