Loss - Sonnet 48

A yellow oak leaf floats toward a brink

In rhythm and at peace among the fold

Of river pebbles; I release my hold

Upon the rock I sit on, and I think:

“Should I go save it? Or, is it my right

To pluck it from the stream? Would I forego

It down the flow, before we overflow…

Could I catch it at all? Am I too slow

To find a way, a prayer, with all my might?”

Yet I cannot, for while my soul is bound

To dust, I find in time I have been cursed

To never see its face again on earth

And never see it rest beneath the sound;

I watch it go; my spirit feels to trust

The current, so I try, I may, I must…