The First Year

The tragic air of someone

you love,

Expels the fiery and watery

deaths,

And instead attracts a much

simpler end.

Missing the first light

night of summer.

The birds never fed decide to go

someplace else.

Left alone in the last snowfall of my

first year.

No more early mornings where

we don’t even see each other,

And when we swapped positions for the

goodnight,

It marked the beginning of

the end.

I know this may sound somber but it’s

precious.

You’ll leave behind so much, if only the

other life would

allow your possessions.

The books most of all, I don’t know how

but I shall get

through them in my first year.