There was a song,
I almost caught it on the way down.
A leaf in your hand, reaching,
reaching out.
You can press the leaf, and hold it forever.
Or you can leave it in the weeds.
Empty pages in a journal can tell more than any words were able
when the leaf falls out on the table
and you remember.
I almost caught it on the way down.
A leaf in your hand, reaching,
reaching out.
You can press the leaf, and hold it forever.
Or you can leave it in the weeds.
Empty pages in a journal can tell more than any words were able
when the leaf falls out on the table
and you remember.