The Autumn winds are whispering,
Another year’s at end,
The passing of the leaves all mark
The absence of a friend.

The sky is crisp and clear and blue,
His breath is on the air,
He silently walks through the street
With sunlight in his hair.

His eyes are cast down at his feet,
He hurries to get home,
Afraid to stop beside the park
With the blackened dome.

But still his feet traverse their own,
He cannot stop their path,
They bring him to the greenest grass
Left in the aftermath.

All signs of life grew fully back,
No ashes could be seen,
Flowers and trees and birds were there,
Loving this happy scene.

Charred remains were still there, standing,
Burned in their final hour,
His knees are trembling, he is weak,
His tongue just tastes so sour.

He sees her walking through the shade,
He reaches out to her,
She smiles warmly and takes his hand,
He feels her, almost sure.

He pulls her gently into him,
They slowly start to dance,
He tries to kiss, but then she’s gone,
He cannot necromance.

He’s left to deal with loss alone,
His heart catches a chill,
He quickly wipes his tear-filled eyes,
And then descends the hill.

He turned his back on her black grave,
He never had denied,
This place of cheerful happiness,
Was where his Love had died.

Amanda Graham

Amanda Graham

Editor at NY Literary Magazine
Amanda holds an M.A. in History. She loves well-written poetry and romance novels. Amanda has 2 cats and a 3-year-old son.
Amanda Graham