Leaves are laid to rest;
Blanketing the ground around the stones
of those already laid to rest.
Golden brown they fall
scattering in the wind // drifting gently;
A covering for those who have already
passed the winter of their life…
and those who left much too soon.
Soon the oak will be bare of leaves
its branches reaching up toward the blue sky.
Standing tall and stately over the cemetery
it knows when Spring comes
will be drawn from its roots.
And, when this winter is past
it will put out new leaves
that will, once again, shade those
who have already been laid to rest.
Photo: Dwight L. Roth
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