The moon acknowledges our passing respectfully.
Slowly dressing in black
To leave and come back.
Until the next one is born
She weeps.
We all have our own single path
Which we must walk through history.
Does the future
Stay steady and firm?
Like an arrow already in flight
Sailing through to strike its target.
Is it a deer or a lion?
Are we on target or are we amiss?
Or even the point that life actual y is a tree
And our brief lives are its roots.
Sustaining the beautiful symbol
Of strength.
We are alive in a forest within a forest.
And those who live
Must be strong.