Passed without Peace

The leaves yearned for a state of permanence and truth,
Though they fell by each season to a passing fate,
The trees whispered to them the reasons to their state,
Yet the message always arrived too late to be heard,
Or was spoken in a language which the leaves knew not,
So they searched and sought out answers of their own,
Dabbling with sheer nonsense to bide their short time,
Doomed for what they were, the leaves passed without peace,
And so the nation of green came to know of nothing,
But the whithering end to which they knew would come.

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