I hope I don't grow old and declining
running out of ideas
running out of running out
depleted of free will
knowing that I will depend on others
burdened with unreliable memories
irredeemable consolation prizes
and an unreachable hole
where I used to be
with people who have since left
there's little certainty
a leaf lands where it falls
then is moved by a breeze
or the industry of insects
the tramp of shoes
I am but a leaf
from a great tree
called family
I will land where I will fall
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