a quiet mourning

a quiet morning
is coming
when the birds will find
untended feeders
at my house

a quiet morning
when my chair
remains unfilled
and my coffee cup
stays cold and empty

a quiet morning
I will not see the sky
loving the clouds
or feel the breeze
kissing the earth

a quiet morning
when my story will be over
and I will have faded
back into nothingness
like ripples disappearing on a pond