I picked up the fallen

Leaves that dried up

Looking at the branches

As sunlight pierced through

I knew then,

Fallen things are even more

Beautiful because they make way

For newer things

Tight was my grip, yet

They slipped right

Through my fingers

You were right, father

Stronger your hold,

Weaker your grip

All you have to do is let go

Leaves or memories

Let new ones sprout

Old ones stay if they’re

Meant to

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