Grace

The yellow leaves fly with the wind
Covering the graves below
the willow
The old man stands in the doorway
Wiping his
eyes with soiled sleeve

He kneels at the foot of the
graves
And touches the time-worn epitaph
Blessed are the
pure in heart,
for they shall see God

The grief of
loss claws at his bleak soul
The wind carries the first
freezing rain

With the rain appears a light
The
bright ray of the cold autumn day
It illuminates the cliffs
beyond the field
And casts vast shades upon the soaked
grass

The man recoils from his distant thoughts
The
rain flows along his furrowed cheeks
He stares at the warmth
of caressing light
And weeps the unseen tears with the
rain

He touches the grass with the palm of his
hand
And lets the wind sway him towards the past
He
follows the path of forgotten oblivion
And vanishes in the
rain on his dying day