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.

Image by Mateusz Sałaciak from Pexels

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