The outlook

Dropping from The Tree of Birth

Leaves of Life flutter

thin as paper swirling

into the abyss.

That thing we call Age passes,

And the leaves around us turn Colors

slowly-

not alone.

Few fall onto The Ledges

Crinkle Brown;

Fall a little faster,

see Brown-

The air turns stale

Sunlight and Breezes Die Brown

On leaves twirl

just to Crinkle Brown

in a pile on the bottom of

the Bottomless Abyss