i see stubborn old leaves clinging to snow-covered branches outside my window
refusing to let go.
refusing to move on.
hardly noticing that their initial purpose has been fulfilled and therefore transformed
hardly noticing that they have withered away and become rigid in their old ways
hardly noticing that the life around them is taking a different direction
that they are no longer needed here
that there is a new purpose for them now
refusing to come to grips with the reality that their brown, old bodies are better on the ground
in their desperate hope to revive old times
cling to the past
see another green day
they miss their chance at new life
they hear not the calling of the Great Compost Bin In The Sky
they do not see past the seeming doom and gloom of death
they see death as an end
rather than a chance to begin anew
in their fear of what lies ahead
they rob themselves of the very thing they most desire
and isn't that what we all do?