My Loss

My loss of you will be a minor thing, 

Unnoticed, the seasons yet will flow.

Continue waltzing proud with beauty, 

Through the myriad months, they know.

And still will seeds since long been sown,

Give birth to birds of bellowing spring. 

For, your death remains unknown,

To the waking sun and the April rain.

Your quiet passing will go unobserved, 

By the boisterous birds and bees of May. 

And so will wide-eyed infant squirrels,

Clamber around through our backyard trees.

June will not cease, nor will July,

Blithely unaware you don't exist. 

Amber autumn bows to winter's bride, 

As if nothing significant is amiss.

Oh, there will perish with your passing,

Little of beauty that is not your own. 

Only the grace of common flowers, 

Only the lilt of morning song...