The Harvest Keeper

I thought your time was endless fall,

With harvests left to reap.

I never heard the winter call,

Where memories lie fast asleep.

I was a careless archivist,

Who let the precious records fade.

The subtle smiles, the moments missed,

The gentle plans we never made.

I left the best fruit on the vine,

So sure I’d come back for it all;

So sure you’d still be here in line,

Beyond the turning of the fall.

But winter came, a sudden blight,

It cared not for what we’d sown;

It stole the color and the light,

And left us standing here…alone.

Now I search the barren branch

For one last answer, one reply;

A ghost who haunts the avalanche

Of every question starting “Why?”