Lost & Found

Autumn strips the branches bare
old men losing all their hair
exposing what we lost up there
things that flew too far, too high.

A rubber ball, a broken kite
snared by forking limbs and height
fading slowly, ashen white
bones of days that passed us by.

Winter keeps us looking down -
whipping rain and muddy brown -
that we might not look up and frown
at things that flew too far, too high.

We’re certain there’s too much to do
too many days that will ensue
to pine for silly things that flew -
flew like sparrows through the sky.

Spring begins, with every leaf
to shroud the spoils of the thief
and hide the objects of our grief
until we can’t imagine why

we used to miss the things we lost,
things we or the wind had tossed,
up to where the boughs are crossed
caught like dreams that went awry

Summer in its fullness comes
bearing peaches, figs and plums
to call us out with cricket hums
and maybe, someday in July

we’ll laugh beneath a canopy
the dappled shade of some great tree
forgetting, playing happily
things can fly too far, too high