10/29/04
She sat alone 'neath the maple tree
Wondering, "What will become of me?"
So sad if her years should come to waste
Her life naught but an empty slate
.
Writing in the yellow sea of leaves
Composing her sad history
She tried to find an answer there
'Neath all her hopes of yester-year
.
But no visions would her past present
No help to guide her, it was spent
She'd have to find another way
Through the mystery, cold and gray
.
So now she looked to the yellowed leaves
Having fallen from the maple tree
They seemed to know their purpose well
Fulfilled their duty before they fell
.
They were the agents that made the tree grow
Feeding it 'til they died from the cold
Their only gift for working so well:
They were given beauty when they fell
.
She thought, "Perhaps that's what I'm for,
To serve something, nothing more,
I'm meant to carry out some given duty
Then die, fall in a mask of beauty"
.
But what could be her forsworn task,
Would she know it 'fore her life was past?
She thought perhaps her life would stay
A mystery till her dying day.