The Once Living Surely Began to Die

Jenna Mullins

 

The once living surely began to die.

For the highest place to climb,

is now the lowest place dropped.

The bright fresh brown is worn like a garden glove;

yellow and orange reflect the slow fade time has placed.

Old laughs still echo on the rusty tin roof.

Shoe laces still caught on the fence that have not seen the dirt.

The memories still scream loud against the brittle leaves.

Where has it all gone?