I often try,

To sort and organize,

The different shades inside, ...

When leaves,

In late autumn,

Refused to fall, ...

That,

Which binds us,

Is not the ring, ...

Winter nears,

My petals have fallen,

Yet resolute I remain, ...

What appears to be,

Is often otherwise,

To that which a child, ...

Only few memories,

Remain vivid and sharp,

As days quietly drift on. ...

All dressed up,

Ready yet alone,

With nowhere to go. ...

As a child,

I craved to know.

Later in life, ...

When the world,

Feels dense and overgrown,

I’ve learned to close the door. ...

Despite anxiety,

Hesitancy or unease,

For where the road leads, ...

I will find ways,

To remain fruitful,

While getting old. ...

As a child,

With nothing to hide,

Privacy I didn’t understand. ...

It’s the familiar,

Feel and sound,

From days now gone, ...

Some mornings,

Even the sun,

Needs to dispel, ...

My shadow,

Is easier to see,

When in daylight, ...

Perhaps older generations,

Were quite smarter,

Than often believed. ...

Leaves turn color,

As warmth and light,

Wane over time. ...

Far away,

Answers quietly wait.

In a distant place, ...

Blue,

Beige,

Grey, ...

Dark,

Cloud-covered mornings,

No longer feel sad. ...