Leaves of Loss

I have been watching
the trees a lot lately,
how they’re molting
the kin of this year
in pass, dropping the
wilted leaves like
bodies lost
overboard a ship
sailing onwards into
a new age.

They fall as bare as
their backs come winter,
they turn away from
onlookers because,
beauty needs to rest
away from prying eyes
and hidden hopes
in order to cut itself anew,
like a diamond in the rough,
regrown sharper and
gleaming in dignity
by the time the sun
peaks around the
clouds of spring and
clarity thaws the cold
shoulder away.

And I got to thinking,
that if the trees are
able to watch their
hard work and dear
memories ground
and fall come each
years end,
and shed them with
as little an effort
as I do bobby pins
or strands of hair,
then I should be
able to do
the same.


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