of leaves and tombs

everything human
stays,
like those staunch tombstones
standing unchanged
over eons passed,
in pedicured gardens,
that must be green
at any cost,
where feet cannot rustle
with fallen leaves of gold,
and hear the song of trees
full of souls
ready to go
where there are no graves,
only wombs
opening and closing
with the turn
of every breath
lived once.