There comes a time
When all left are twigs
leaves all blown
Dry branches fall
when wind breaks off

In this time
all good and bad
Are mere reflections
where all doors to truth hurt
The true definition of life
Is a looped I

For this time
comes on purpose
Flowers and postcards
Tales from sideline
How good your life was

That sad, sweet time
When all that clocks, clock the last time