Thought
Old leaves should fall
Turned red and brown
Soft earth accept
Enrich the ground
Mother’s soil bed prepare
For cold death and branches bare
Wheel of cycle roundly turn
So we adopt, adapt and learn
From optimistic cloth of green
To simple form minimum
Seasons come fourfold to say
There’s so much more to this array
There is little more to narrate
Prayer
O Mother your timely seasons are harmonious and involve new birth, life, decay and death. I worship Thee in every clothing and hint of guiding presence that moves me along toward Thee.
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