In the falling of the leaf
dry, lifeless
There is a story, an untold grace.
Of the life on high-perch,
swooning with the winds,
singing with the birds from distant skies,
sharing the stories of faraway seas
the clouds and the rains bring.
And now,
falling from the bough unseen
going back to where it all began
To meet the roots that held them up high.
To rise within xylem, phloem, the pipes of life.
To meet the new leaves, lush and green,
living their days to the brim.
To be born again, to be young again,
throbbing with life.
Where does life begin,
where does death end?
A mere fiction of the ignorant
unable to behold or fathom
the two sides of the same coin.
When there is only life, life and life,
as far you can and cannot see.
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