'Fading in the song of the leaves'

One of them looked strong,

the other should have appeared


Much more like death.


Is this not the case

when you study life

like a painting?


Our differences are minimal,

but they represent –to us-

our own significance

or, more so,

our lack of it.


The flourished tree is blind to it.

That is how it succeeded.

The weak limbs of its frail counterpart

have watched us all over the many years;

heard all of our fuss

and seen our useless agony


all for the sake of death


Or perhaps, the flourished tree

learned to laugh

with secrecy and quick desire

as we fight our ugly fight

towards nothing.

The End

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