It is raining
As if nothing has happened
It is raining

And the trees stand there
As they have for centuries
Watching  me and remembering
Sympathetic
But unhelpful

They’ve seen this sort of thing before
A mother
Weeping

There are little leaves on the rose bushes
Who will graduate into adult leaves
That will never rub shoulders
With your passing boyhood
Never

Tiny flowers struggle
To become lucious fruit
Bursting with life
Then drop to the forest floor
Unnoticed

And the birds
The cheery birds
The birds have no idea
None whatever
That you are gone
Always gone

Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort
2 Corinthians 1:3