I hope I don't grow old and declining

running out of ideas

running out of running out

depleted of free will

knowing that I will depend on others

burdened with unreliable memories

irredeemable consolation prizes

and an unreachable hole

where I used to be

with people who have since left

there's little certainty

a leaf lands where it falls

then is moved by a breeze

or the industry of insects

the tramp of shoes

I am but a leaf

from a great tree

called family

I will land where I will fall