a hot summer breeze
scrapes a rusted oak leaf
across the sun-baked pavement,
gone too ground too soon,
and so too have you,
long before years
of unspoken words
could find their way
into the air;
as the leaves
will feed the earth,
so your silent lessons
have fed our souls;
as new leaves may bloom
upon naked branches
in the spring,
when our grieving subsides,
so too shall we find life again
as we carry your memory
into our futures
