From the Tree of Time, one by one,
Like leaves, the hours fall,
And in moldering piles lie useless,
That held such promise in the spring.

No hope to make them green again,
But through them, lessons learned,
Like mulch on tomorrow's garden,
Leaves of yesterday live on.

Each year a bough to bear the fruit
That gives purpose to the tree:
Each thought and deed, within itself,
Enfolding living seed.

Waste! The blight that turns the leaves
And withers budding hours,
Burdens the bough with bitter fruit,
Enfolding seed of sorrow!

Ideas; Desires; Frail blossoms;
But shielded from the icy winds
Of discouragement and greed, prosper
And bring the joyous harvest!