autumn trees have no memory of their spring
or their sapling years besides and
beneath the older trees they fought
and through odd fortune
they grew usurped them and fed at their decay like vibrant vampires
seedlings come full circle
no memory
but if they did
a memory for just the past year
to remember being vigorous and green
now bare
clutching a thin cloak of coloured leaves at their throats quietly
desperately
as the cycle is
and must be
and saplings not so very far away flourishing
what would they think
what would they think
would they think as I do
as I struggle with my infirmity
fight my regrettable emotions of being less than I am physically capable
of my growth
of my growth
my greening and autumn
I revere the cycle
too many of my people have died to not
gentle cogs
terrific gears
the spent tears of our unexpected lives
terrific gears
the spent tears of our unexpected lives
for which I am grateful
and saddened
and saddened
such is the fix of memory
1919, Monday, 20 6. 11
