![Picture](/uploads/3/0/8/1/3081738/5199187.jpg?177)
When there is nothing left to say
I will brush the cobwebs from my soul
this rusted dented old soul.
Unfurl it, let it catch the freshening breeze,
like a leaf waving goodbye to its season
gone to join its tribe on the last breath of autumn
waiting for the ground to break its fall.
rs