When a leaf in the winter night,
Pierces through the moonshine and the air,
And drops dead on the ground
Does it bear the cognizance of its death?
The sacred departure from this life
And if it does, does it hope for a beyond
A life after death,
Does it want another life?
And if it does,
What does it expect to be?
A man, a beast,
Or perhaps just another leaf on a tree;
I am dubious of what it thinks
When a dead leaf drops on the ground
Without a sigh or moan, in the winter night
Does it accept death as wise men do forever,
Or does it hope for a heaven, scripted yet unfound.
Then I imagine the day I would drop dead
As a leaf does in the silence of the night
And I wonder if I would just accept death
Or beg for another life.