Unceasing Variation
A poem on change

I stand beside a felled tree It’s mighty roots lift nakedly into the cool winter air It is miraculous how something as great, old, and supple as this tree could one day meet an end My time, like this tree’s, will someday be spent I smile This is good
I am quite fortunate that this present form I find myself in will one day cease to exist. That my life is temporary What a bore, to be trapped in perpetual constancy It is the nature of this universe To constantly change
A leaf flutters in the breeze Eventually, it falls to the ground with a quiet crunch A second leave arrives It follows the same fate as the first but this one is silent
Maybe someday, my bodily atoms will find themselves congregated in the form of a tree. That would be nice. I would like to be a beech tree.
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