A Goodbye

The grass has struck now

In its narrow shape.

It is green yet sparse;

No time yet to prosper.

We all stood here

Over the silken oak

To weep in our hearts.

Do not mourn, she said.

I’ve had the best of lives.

You can’t say goodbye

When love clutches the throat.

So we stand, the wind in the west,

And offer nothing more than

Our broken, broken hearts

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