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how sad it must be
for the fields ~ for the trees
when the buds and the babies
have gone
when the chill takes a bride
to the long winter night
and lies in the places
we loved

as memory caught
in briar and sage
clover as mid-summer heat
twinkling lights were weaved into braid
vows are crossed over –
(our fortunes to meet)
a lifetime or two
and not so apart
the swallow would nurse with the bear
the willow unfolds her branches of gold
while wishes make nest
in her hair

another year falls
as seasons to pass –
a way of life drifting away
tho once we were here –
so amazing (I know)

and now
there are none to replace
the nature of oak
to remember my hands
the bark grows much darker
these days
rings become rings
as history saves
stories from Luna to limb

a photograph here
the scene soon forgotten –
my memory the same
(it must be)
life rearranged to the cycles of wheat

a picture
of a picture
of me