This year's harvest.

A moment picked
for a vase
drops its memories
over time.

Composted minds,
enriched thoughts
grow moments
now in time's decay.

All living things become
withered where the bones
of life are buried,
a scavenger runs off
with a femur,
while the wind blows
all remaining memories,
scattered as dead leaves,
no longer can they be
harvested.