We cling to our own point of view, as though everything depended on it. Yet our opinions have no permanence; like autumn and winter, they gradually pass away. -Zhuangzi
Please do not reproduce or copy this poem without permission:
In the dead of Autumn.
Walking among the fallen,
Crunching, dry bodies.
A sparse spread litter.
Their resting place on the ground,
No future for them.
Although the stanzas are in haiku format, I do not know wether it classes as a true haiku or not.