There is no heart that stops its beat,
no lungs, and no last breath released;
there are no eyes that finally close
or cease to see in glazed repose.
Sap slows its flow from root to leaf
so gently there’s no prompt for grief;
time takes the twigs and breaks the boughs,
but death is never simply “now”;
the roots will rot and bark will fall,
yet no time marks the end of all.
So by degrees a tree recedes,
we shed our tears and plant new seeds,
and fallen branches must be turned
to seasoned staves and lessons learned.
Our past runs through the wood we use
to build again and start anew:
for love is patient, love is kind,
and as the timber knots unwind,
along with memories of the rain,
the love lives on, deep in the grain.