Change

Autumn leaves, and new colors spring Same shape –– different veins Some things left, time will never bring Back. What once was thought true– Constant, never changing, will always Change. Insidiously it goes through Now so much a decay. Merely a fresh coat of paint on Old furniture. Comforting familiarity, Yet with sharp splinters, Newly-formed. But with each passing day, You cultivate the seeds Of what once was. And what now is, only disappoints.

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