The day after yesterday…
the lilacs were gone.
Then the iris.
One by one, they were, also, all departed.
All, but the northern wallflowers…that is.
Never do the gods account for the ever so green…up on the ridge.
This is where the grassy knolls have always replenished me.
I come here daily to see what it is you see.
No, you are not just a simple plot of trees.
What has been, seen daily, yearly, at your limbs hand?
The growth so measurable…
Yet, your roots have begun a different kind of land.
In deepest sincerity,
my strength has atrophied.
But my vigor…as I watch your vastness…
I admit…is thought of differently.
In freshened mind, as you have portrayed…
I cannot walk this walk…only to return to my cave.
Though in beckoning winds I may…become altered.
A small resolution should not be what I am after.
Came fall, ever green will turn to rust.
Came winter, your poignancy will become a changeling, yet, robust.
Sheltering all who follow you.
Giving the time to renew.