They do not end that cease to be.
Petals fall slow and purposely.
Bees leave at dusk for tomorrow's morn.
All things that end must soon transform.
The Earth turns round, a cycling sphere.
Seasons bring salmon over weirs.
The dying fish leave hatchlings born.
All things that end must soon transform.
Tide and Moon join the surging sea.
All things are bound, like flower and bee.
We each shape each and change our form.
All things that end must soon transform.
The loss of one is but one end.
A pause, and then begin again.
The loss of one, be free to mourn,
but wait. What ends must soon transform.
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