When the leaves fall
The scent of decay
somehow smells sweet.
Yesterday's leaves are today's litter.
Cast away is most of a year's new growth.
Thousands of leaves come and go
to let the tree grow a single ring.
A tree does not recall leaves that fall
after pre-winter breezes tear them away.
But I am not so stoic as a tree.
I recall everything that was a part of me
long after it is torn asunder.
Even those that last but a short season
live within me forever,
making me human.
Even if they torture me with their passing,
these memories make me whole.
If I remember less each day
Somewhere inside a ring is disappearing.
This year was a good growing season.
A thick ring added around my core.
I will not soon forget
those that made it grow
even though they have now long left.