Decay
A house in which no one lives
Any more. Dead sere leaves
Floating, spent, on a pool
Of autumn rain. Shut windows,
Reflected in the parking
Reserved for a pastor
Who suffered from cancer,
And passed away: whose wife,
Now the pastor, struggles
With health, herself.
What was once live, and green, and young
Passes into the waiting arms
Of mortality.
There remains, only, the hope
That the cycle will start
Once again, and the sap will rise
In a new spring, a house alive
With a family, and the parishioners
Renew their faith.