The mists rise over the valleys and hills
Looking other-worldly as they drift up
The sun warming the ground from where
They sail on across and off, like burial
Cloth, holding life and death in a season
Where cool air comes in the morning
The only indication of a change around
Us a s leaves begin to swirl and blow
Like so much is fraught with gliding
Off to another place, as the change is felt
In rhythmic patterns of fleeing, drifting,
Wind bound unpredictability, maybe
This is why change is so hard, because
Something has to die and be unbound
Hurling full in into the unknown and
We become a part of the full cycle of
Creations dance in the between of soul