The trees do not mourn their felled autumn leaves
Leaves that were dead far before they let go;
The leaves will not look back or miss the tree
As they decay beneath the winter snow.
Do not mourn for the old naked branches,
Which stretch so far with strength to sky above;
Space has cleared to bloom with new buds’ chances,
Ready to sprout anew with next year’s love.
Do not mourn when long dead love abandons,
When warm feelings fall cold, then asunder
For despite marking the life it happened,
Loss is a fragment of life’s great wonder.
The mark is pale and does not block
Life’s ever-dreaming, ticking clock.