WALKING WITH GHOSTS

Walking down Christchurch paths
The trees aglow with autumns hue
have discarded their leaves, which litter the ground
on the same paths I once walked with you.

You led me by the hand through this familiar park,
Years on I know the route so well.
As green turns to red with the start of the season,
I think of a memory for each leaf that has fell.

Leaves the trees cast knit a patchwork path
woven with red, yellows and brown.
It wraps me up and gives me strength,
Though bare, the trees have never fallen down.

As days go by and the seasons pass,
The nights draw in I walk this old path.
Crunching of leaves replace the sound of your footsteps,
Ever present is this aching in my heart.

I find apathy with trees
without their leaves
We are the same, we have both lost.
But as spring brings promise
In new buds they will host
I am still bare,
Walking with ghosts.