How so in lockstep with time is nature:
leaves drift in waves with the passing seasons,
marking an arrow's flight to the future
as the fate of life, which even treason's

high schemes and plottings would fail to outwit.
Each year i watch them through my window fall
to earth as they to nature's laws submit,
and am thus reminded i've bugger-all

to feel cocksure about: all things must pass,
myself just one of those destined to die.
Christians ask where i think i'll go to.

No answer exists, demonstrably true,
so i tend to lie, point up at the sky
and say, "there, if your god has any class."

MP 4-151123