He was once a boy, too,
Although I didn’t know him then
He was never one to share
His how, his why, or when
He grew
He loved
He lost,
He reared
He lived
He died.
Scattered in the mountains,
On an autumn’s austral breeze
What then became the resting place,
For his lifelong memories
His first scraped knee
His first real kiss,
His first broken heart
His dearest bliss,
His deepest passion
His darkest abyss.
I’ll never know of his best day,
Or if he recalls when last he cried
I’ll never know what he thought of me,
Or hear of the childhood he hid inside
I only have my own memories,
Which is half our story’s tale
Perhaps one day we’ll catch up,
In an austral mountain gale
art: Autumn Descends by Tracy Webb
