Leaving

I lie forlorn beneath freshly fallen snow; once a bridal veil, now a shroud. I will not feel the first spring rain. I will not feel the sweetness rush through me. Disconnected from the flow, prostrate; a fallen form freezing to a forgiving ground. Beside me, remnants of my former glory lean. Boughs plucked, pieces bent into the endless circle marked with a blood red bow. I lie dreaming now with the fallen leaves, a glorious memory of sunshine, songbirds, soft rain, and strong winds, swaying in the crisp fall air. As the last, remnants of memory bloom, a multitude of bright prismatic light and the sound of tinkling glass rises to bring me homeward, crowned with the evening star my fallen spirit rises.