Fallen Leaves

In passing, my uncle John said she is gone.
She was such a sweet siren-song
In my youth — and oh so strong.
How can it be…that she is gone?

My buddy Jim succumbed to a disease.
We fell in with each other with such ease —
A true brother in spirit all lifelong.
How can it be…that he is gone?

My sister…always looking out for me.
She could even find me up a tree.
Big sis, a guardian angel all along.
How can it be…that she is gone?

My parents, they doted on me.
My mom bounced me on her knee.
My dad and I golfed all day long.
How can it be…that they are gone?

All of them — gone, gone, gone.
How can it be…that all are gone?

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

My Story

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