the one left behind
any death is a loss,
as someone who was loved,
and who did the best she could,
who did the best he was able,
leaves us for a beyond we can’t fathom,
what I can touch is the one who is left behind,
I can feel for the sundering
as one is still here
and hurts for the one who isn’t,
we make our way as best we can
in a wood that can seem trackless,
until we, too, are the one who leaves for the beyond,
and those left behind are another’s worry.
by Henry H. Walker
January 8, ‘16
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