The trees this time of year are yellow
leaning on the edge of green
and as the wave of new birth comes
the death remains unseen.

What we have under this sun
will not be forever.
Much shorter than we know
yet none of us are clever.

Nobody is the wiser
When time becomes the miser
Hung out on the wire
Dangling over fire

Not just for one more like for all
we are all witnessing the fall.
We pretend to be blind
not to see the truth
But the secret we hide
is that we all knew.