AugPoWriMo 21

Possibilities ever out of reach
All the leaves wither singing each to each
What’s past is past not even the future
Could improve the artifice of nature
We all age at least one day at a time
Some moments last and leave us all behind
What traces left are destined to outlive
The rest of us take all we have to give
Another season ends as one begins
No one knows how to tell what day it is
We are ingredients that do not blend
Before our starting points will meet their end
Why we are born in the middle of things
Yet in our ends still is our beginnings