Last Leaves
They who expect
unchecked dominion
of their opinion,
who always seek
to speak last,
by none surpassed,
may they await
the fate of all
last leaves that fall —
and be the first
thinned
by changing wind.
Those below
nourish what will grow.
A poem, in poems. Seasonal.
Made . Brought in .
clear · 21° · SE 5 kt · only the sun and moon and stars