When dried leaves depart,
In submission to the changing wind,
And nothing now makes sense,
Remember we’re all given a plan.
While quiet enough to hear,
And present enough to understand,
We’ll realize sadness, too, is a gift.
Even when the hearts of Grackles,
Sit and wait for a chance to create,
Songs out of screeches and cackles,
Their tune we refuse to consummate.
Yet, we allow it to comfort us within,
Remember, same tree, same devotion,
When leaning into darkness, once again.