The stories written have been read
By those meant to receive them
The words I’ve shared have landed
On the ears that need to hear them
As this season of my life draws closed
I gather the fallen leaves
Rich with color and autumn hues
They are a reminder of me
I gather them between my fingers
Crumbled pieces escape my grasp
A cool breeze swirls and their gone
This finite existence isn’t made to last
Remember me, I whisper
Hoping I’ve left some mark
The only thing I ever wanted
To have used what I was given for good
The remaining leaves I slip between the pages of my book
Closed and shelved
A new series begins
