The leaves of Autumn, fallen now,
Yet crisp but fleetingly are lain,
For soon the winter rain will come
And claim them back to earth again.
But come the spring they'll live once more,
As life-blood to some fresh new form,
To scent the breeze, to taste the rain
And tremble in the summer storm.
Is there a plan like this for me?
And if there is, shall you be there?
Or must a new stage then be trod?
New roles to play? Another God?
The only secret ne'er betrayed
Is not, I know, for me to share
Until that final curtain fall,
When life's great secret then lies bare.
And so perhaps, best not to dwell
Too long on thoughts that breed despair,
But rather take and live each day
With time well filled and friends who care.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.