Day: March 17, 2019

Standing at the window,

Watching the wind in the trees,

Overcome with sadness and remorse

For all that is gone and will never be.

A parent, a friend, an old car,

Money scattered like the brittle leaves

That flutter away in a sudden gust,

Then fall in a just as sudden calm.

They will skitter across the sidewalk

And into the boisterous street

Where a car speeds in one direction,

And a car going even faster

Speeds in the other. To where?

And why such urgency,

When the brittle crunch beneath the tires

Will fade with the swelling warmth,

And buds will appear on the branches,

And when no one is watching,

Unfurl into leaves, dark or bright,

Slender or broad, ready to dance

In a freshly awakened breeze.

 

 © Dennis Hathaway

 

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