Time to store away what we have gathered

and burn our sorrows,

that which we have lost,

and those who will not journey with us into winter.

We are charged to transform tears into nutrients

and turn the soil.

Reminded to let it rest,

so it can be ready for planting again

come Spring.

These are the cycles of life,

we cannot escape.

But in the frenzy of growing season

we will forget again.

Forget that all that is sown

is not ours to keep,

like a stone in our pocket

to carry for comfort.

Only the spirit remains,

like an imprint on our soul.

But not the being itself,

who was never ours to possess.

Never a possession!

Merely ours to treasure and adore

in our heart,

bowing low in gratitude.

Thankful that they once passed so close

that their song still lingers

within us,

like a gift,

for as long as our feet dance

on this sacred ground

we call home.

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