As we walk down the lane, under the canopy of trees,
The spectrum of color, green, tan, and brown...
A mosaic below as the trees begin to drop their leaves,
All the hints of autumn, here in this wee little town.
Off to the right, the young one, standing next to the mare,
As we arrive at the pasture, he steps, stumbles, is down...
The mare reaches her long neck, nudges with care,
Those long wobbly legs, struggling, his footing as the clown.
We meander further down the lane, enjoying our walk,
Taking in the colors, but the sky grey, showing it's frown,
The droplets beginning to fall, surely ending our talk,
We scramble, the ground slick from the bucket down.
Then as suddenly as it started, the down pour slows to a sprinkle,
A path, calling from its end, a small delicate gate, leaning down...
She hesitates, I look up into her eyes, there is the twinkle,
Looking back over time, she is remembering the gown.
This was their cottage, first house, so it felt like home,
Pitter patter of small feet, above brow a simple crown...
Together they grew, but then he would roam,
To the river he went, but only to drown.
And forever would this cottage be empty and bare,
Everyone impacted within this wee little town....
For the loss of this loved one, no one could share,
To the river he went, but only to drown.
Written for Willow's Magpie Tales no. 29