End of the Road

The end of the road

Is the same for everyone

Reached each by their own route

Some winding, others straight

Some short and others long

Some bumpy and others smooth

Some travel their ways

In luxury and comfort

And others much walk

On the hot souls of calloused feet

But it matters not the way they came

I missed you during the holidays

And your birthday came and went

Without a mention of your name

The few things of yours remain

And a lost picture of you

Between the pages

Of one of your old books

The silence and peace within which we dwell

Becomes your memory and our devotion

But the day does not dawn

Nor the sun set

When you are not a part of our abode

And fail to walk in our shadows

And haunt our private spaces

Dare we mention you again

Or chance to recall great emptiness

You left behind

Seasons

Odd Ends: Perennial Poesy along the Way

2005