Softer than breath, the spirits of the fallen ones
rise free, etching on our minds the memory
of their summer days. Oh, how they danced then,
so supple and alive, as green and shining as the breeze.
We thought they would go on forever,
so joyous was their song. Now, as we gaze
at the emptiness of the spaces they once filled,
we are bereft. The world is not the same
without them, nor will it be, ever again.
There’s little but our souls we would not give
to look once more into their faces, to feel their bodies,
warm beneath our fingertips.
But no, the spaces that were theirs are vacant now,
except for this river of tears and the acrid taste of pain.
And how we cling to our anguish, for it’s all we have left,
just this, to fill the unfillable spaces.
Yet, despite our pleas – Don’t take my pain!
It’s all I have now! – eventually the last tear dries,
leaving only the space and its ringing silence
and this late autumn breeze that we would not trade,
so tender and deep is its song.