Our lives Are like leaves: We sprout and grow, Live and synthesize All the good And ill it Is our part to do. Then, we grow old, Shrivel and die. But when we go, Some of us Pass on in a blaze Of color, Bettering the world Even as From our branches We fall. But mostly, We grow old and arid, Turn brown and fall Unnoticed, Crushed beneath The uncaring feet Of those whose eyes Are fixed aloft On the brilliant Beacons that are Unwasted lives.
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