Our pond is empty,
our trees are cut
to clear.

You, right now,
are lost to me;

how I wish that
you were here.

Never was it spoken
true, how important
that you are.

But, without your
light to guide me,
I’d have never
traveled
so far.

The softness of
your voice,
the reassurance that
you gave;

left all who heard it
with a little more
life to save.

Now these woods
are hollow,
the pond
is all but dry.

The leaves begin
to scatter
as the wind
gusts sharply
by.

The owl asks
me who I’ll
miss,
but never
says
goodbye.

*
-JBClaywell
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