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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