It’s too late-
the leaves and you are gone,
no longer living
in summer’s forgotten dream.
The trees’ grey arms still reach-
false bright of blue,
sun’s promise, slips
through spindled fingers.
I envy the tender shoots
deep in soil’s quiet night,
gentle roots cradling
lost blood and bone.
I lay my head to rest
against your stone forever
promising to tend your flowers
with no hope of spring.
the leaves and you are gone,
no longer living
in summer’s forgotten dream.
The trees’ grey arms still reach-
false bright of blue,
sun’s promise, slips
through spindled fingers.
I envy the tender shoots
deep in soil’s quiet night,
gentle roots cradling
lost blood and bone.
I lay my head to rest
against your stone forever
promising to tend your flowers
with no hope of spring.

