Here, I write a threnody to the autumn wind.
You shook the trees, but carried their leaves
safely down, gently kissing the ground.
Here, I write a threnody to the birds outside my window.
You sang on my early mornings, you sang on my late evenings.
A melody for every moment, though I didn't understand the sentiment.
Here, I write a threnody to August storms.
You roared on the silent nights, whispered on the loudest days.
Shaking the earth, rumbling with mirth.
Here, I write a threnody to the pixie dust tree across the street.
You hovered over centuries, never revealing your mysteries.
Always swaying in the breeze, dancing with graceful ease.
Here, I write a threnody.
Here, I write a forgotten memory.
With the autumn wind, the singing birds, the August storms, and the pixie dust tree.
I write a threnody to my past and my future.
I write a threnody to the gentle things, to the mighty things.
I write a threnody to the joyful, to the sorrowful.
I write a threnody to threnodies.
Here, I write as I always have.
Here, I write a threnody as I slowly close my window.