Leaves have turned yellow,
Wilted, and wind scattered about.
There's nothing beautiful in it,
As distance spring is in doubt.

Winds of change know no bounds,
Turning inside, upside and out.
Like the manic dance of clowns,
Draining flavor from the grounds.

Standing on the precipice of doubt,
Looking for answers never found out.
Changes will come, changes will go,
Readers of tea leaves will never know.