Traces of those who have gone before
leaving scents in the wind
that stir my heart
and move me to tears,
a blade of grass bent
the rose petal fallen to earth
pathways trod
casting seeds in the wake
to catch the morning dew
and the mist that lingers through the feathers of the grass.
Now slowly overgrowing
untrodden but not forgotten
the rain pours
the scent lessens
leaving your footprints deeply and tenderly embedded
in my heart.

8.6.22