by Haley Johnston

Created on: April 25, 2010

Ashes

The young child walked, beneath her crunching autumn leaves of late fall hue,

Right with her walked her loving father, both inhaled sweet daylight's dew.

Down by the pond their dim reflections stared across the peaceful park,

A chilling breeze sends promise that the day will soon give way to dark.

Her father eased his pace and slowly turned to face his lovely doll,

Her light brown eyes ablaze with youth, an accent to the shades of fall.

He took her hand of porcelain white, and in it placed a tiny ring,

Then told her he'd be there for her though he'd been drafted for this spring.

The child simply smiled, unknowing, saw no meaning in their talk,

The father, now a bit less solemn, took her hand so they could walk.

Each step they took, the father faded; soon a shadow shedding tears,

The product of fond memories locked up inside for many years.

Now in the pond the sight had changed, no longer father with his child.

Instead, a wrinkled women knelt observing features age defiled.

Grasped in her knobby hand the ring was now a relic, tarnished gray,

The one reminder of the walk the two had shared that faithful day.

She stood back up, her bones now creaking, muscles begging to resign,

The old one grunts as tears flow free, still glad to walk here one last time.

A withered hand wipes back the tears and dries her sparse and crooked lashes,

framing eyes that saw her life- a life now charred, reduced to ashes.

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