How they look their best,
These golden autumn leaves,
Right before they fall to death,
Leaving behind naked trees.
How they shine extra bright,
The far-away, twinkling stars,
Right before they burn out,
Leaving dull white dwarves.
How they look so whimsical,
The waterlilies by Monet,
Right before he died,
As his vision went away.
And this makes me think of us,
How beautiful are me and you.
How we have grown so much.
But beauty is mortal too.
And when the time inevitably comes,
For our entwined hearts to shatter,
Who will be left to pick the pieces?
I wonder will it matter,
That we were once beautiful.