Like a browning leaf,
drowning in a puddle...
I am a dying soul,
aging, like the tree yonder.
Miraculous it is
how death begins the
moment we are born.
It is miraculous.
Sitting atop a rock,
pondering of the leaf,
thinking of the
actual beauty of death.
How all it really is
is an end to a
beginning of another
beginning to end.
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