loss

the days unfold, one upon another
each glimpse a breath of air
a wisp of hair
a wave of the hand
the fold of the skirt
the tip of the shirt
linger, images lasting
sweet memories
sweet days
sweet scents, refill the air
aromas of the past
the meal shared under a tree
the blade of grass
the minds eye doth see,
the loss no more,
the treasures to be,
that with which our minds eye
is still to be,
as we remember
what was to be,
and is forever
the memory the minds eye doth see.