Eternal Pace

Is there a word to say anew on change?

In fall, dead leaves of trees collapse in place.

Then comes the cold, and frost will soon arrange –

to ever follow this eternal pace.

 

Nature shall take all that belongs to her,

no matter what it holds in faith or frame.

No howl in pain is heard, no mere whisper –

as dirt of earth so swiftly takes its claim.

 

Alike the leaves I too will yet succumb –

retreating back to what I was before.

A dust of earth, one grain apart the sum –

the peace in this innate release restored.

 

I will not try to trick the grave in vain,

to know with dirt and leaves I shall remain.