The leaves, they keep falling,
one by one, colours in my hand,
yellow, browns, reds, oranges.
They seem happy,
even in full bloom strangely,
like they lived their lives.
Peaceful with knowledge, that,
this is the way, of life.
To do your thing, the only way,
without fear, with faith.
Seeking no acknowledgement,
no limelight,
nothing except from the self.
When comes the time, to become dust,
to do so without regrets, without any burn.
For a life was lived well,
and a job well done.


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