A trickle of music <br /> down the hall from my flat <br /> floats slender fragments of sound-- <br /> Harmonis leaves glide down <br /> out of cool, autumnal Brahms; <br /> <br /> silver whispers touch my cheek <br /> and I shiver; they are notes, <br /> small and tender, tiny pulses <br /> along my senses-- <br /> blue and burgundy percussions <br /> against cloudy remembrances-- <br /> <br /> next sunlight I look down <br /> into a backyard swimming pool <br /> deserted by ballons of summer laughter; <br /> I glance up to see green fields hazed by heat <br /> give way to wheat now; <br /> <br /> Dark red leaves <br /> lie still on the pool's bottom, <br /> sliding, fading, almost forgotten.<br /><br />Edith Scott Johnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/grief-leaving/
