strangers,
we shared a bench, stories  
while I watched my grandsons play
he gazed at the twirling leaves
an autumnal symphony
ascending        

in one day it will be November  
he proclaimed, and one ancient “all saints day”
he had reported for induction into a congregation,
one he would never forget    

I had been in the same flock  
though seasons later and what my eyes
had seen had long since been tucked away
behind wedding marches, my children clawing
their way into the brave new world, and
those boys now frolicking before me

I do not know what he saw  
or what things he still carried  
to the battlefield of today    

but he never blinked at passers by  
and when the sun would break the clouded sky  
he would pause mid sentence, mid breath
to ask what I could never answer    

where did the flowers go,
when had the trees shed their leaves
and why was I still staring at lads in play
this day, All Hallows Eve, and would we
all be here tomorrow?