Against the trees the bitter winds have blown,
Long burnished bare by winters baleful gusts,
They linger long through winter storms and snow.
And cling to boughs as friends return to dust.
These lonely leaves are but the spent remains,
Of lives long lived yet fearful of the fall.
What use of holding on, can it contain,
The sad and certain end that will befall.
Thus as the seasons come, the seasons go,
And life that springs from earth to earth returns.
There is a time to live, a time to grow,
And in between the fate of all is churned.
What can be said of life that ebbs and flows
There is a time of laughter and of woes


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