A leaf falls,
hits the ground,
turns brown.
A friend dies
of ripe age,
a sage.
A lie chills,
Makes dust
Of trust.
A flower grows
from ground,
no sound.
A lover is
The way,
They say.
A leaf falls,
hits the ground,
turns brown.
A friend dies
of ripe age,
a sage.
A lie chills,
Makes dust
Of trust.
A flower grows
from ground,
no sound.
A lover is
The way,
They say.