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