The river flows, the petals fall,the silent earth reclaims them all.A seed will rest beneath the loam,only to rise and find its home. The autumn gold, the winter white,yield to spring's returning light.The barren branch, so still, so bare,will bloom again in warmer air. The fawn will stand, the bird take flight,the fading sun will birth the night.Yet morning comes, as sure as time,with dawn's embrace, the bright sun climbs. So fret not when the leaves drift down,or when the fields wear autumn's crown.For what may end will rise anew,as nature weaves her thread in you.