When in the crisp of a fall morning,
the scent of burning leaves nearby
we might acknowledge own mourning
passage, our yearn of a seasonal sky
Our lives in a constant profiled balance
we cannot forget our own human being
exists in realistic terms, not just chance,
that our encounters have little meaning.
Much like the rotation of our morning sun
can we establish some new momentum
one that peace and love to speak upon
with little regard for hyppocratic ultimatum
Would we be the same today as yesterday
might now we choose to live another way.