A yard in mourning
The larches have donned their summer green
Beneath, the soil peers sadly through weeds
The grass, outgrown its short pants
Waves dryly in the breeze
Invades the flowerless beds
Two short tracks where mowing began
Interrupted
The old man on the corner
A stranger really
Year after year tireless
His yard a bright spot on the walk to and from work
Now lies lonely
Untended
Overgrown
Empty of bloom
I’m glad I one day said “Hello” to him
I can’t remember
Did I tell him how much joy
His yard gave me?
"And that’s all I’m going to say about that."
