A gold leaf falls down hard upon cold ground.
Green leaf hangs on to life yet knows her end.
Each day we pray true life and joy be found.
Moments matter enjoying time we spend.
She fell and we cried hard. She’s missed. It’s cold.
Death came before winter and took her life.
Winter had not started. She was not old.
How dear the autumn bring this bitter strife!
But who are we to stop or slow this fate?
Seasons do not control or change her grip
nor does she stop or care when asked to wait.
Felled leaves in heaps. Living trees fully stripped.
This sonnet was written for my wife on the loss of her sister. It was meant as reminder that death leaves us feeling empty and yet for some of us, we believe in a resurrection – that there’s always a Spring after death in Winter.
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