The iron strips are molded into a chair
Warm from springtime sunshine
Today, confronted, like all of us,
With the matter of an unforeseen death,
The thought hits me
What will I miss?
Will it be the tall white pines that for years formed the border of what was called the backyard?
Will it be the many types of hosta,
Spreading leaves reaching upward yet sideways,
To capture one’s eye?
Will it be the clear blue skies that fight off the clouds in the west?
It’s hard to imagine what will be missed
when sitting in an earthly heaven.