Green leaves are hardly noticed,
Until they die by winter's breath;
Then all eyes are drawn towards them,
As they gild the earth with death.
Grey hair is hardly noticed,
Until it grows on one’s own head;
Then all eyes will look upon it,
As a sign of seasons shed.
Good things are hardly noticed,
Until they die upon neglect;
Then all eyes are looking for them,
Once there are no good things left.
Mistakes are always noticed,
Hidden struggles are seen last;
For few eyes will ever notice,
Hurt now present, from the past.
All things which are not noticed,
Are revealed through those which die;
Until everything that’s noticed,
Is the good which has passed by.
The eyes, they will not notice,
Beyond what is shown to them;
Unless the heart will look beneath,
The dead leaves, to find the stem.