A leaf fell upon my knee, and proclaimed unto me (in a literary key): “Wherefore dost thou flee as you cling to your tree?

“When it’s time to be free, you’ll let go, let’s agree, like the busying bee or the abounding flea.

“They don’t split twigs in three waiting for some decree; when they’re ready, they see, with heart-warming glee, that it’s time for a life-living spree.

“So here is my plea,” said he then, said he he, little leaf on my knee, as he sipped herbal tea (Shakespeare’s tumbled trustee), “Though there’s no guarantee, I say unto thee, to a massive degree: let things be.”