Dried Leaves

The autumn is around,
There a leaf turns yellow, they enter in to their
Second child wood, the woman, who nursed
Me and cared me and the man who
Clothed for me and protected me
From the womb to the present day,
The world labels them as my parents,
I call them my creators, by the will
Of thy, with the small grey around
Wrinkles on the little finger
Who guided me to walk?
My vision though detains from
Details, my heart breaks with
It, though my wooden bowl will come
The certain day, the inner me refuses
to see my roots to wither away,
I am bloomed and will dry to
Dust the same way with my
Fruits to mourn me as I mourn
For my loved ones greater than
Thy, the master of the soul.
Thy, my lord why is there autumn,
Rustling of the dried leafs
Chills my core, with the days to
Come I will hate the autumn.
- Butterfly Dreamer
this is dedicated to a old women whom i met in a journey back home