When You're Gone
 
When you leave this world,
the greatest sadness
won't be our dark house 
and a cold October rain
beating the panes,
rattling down the spouts.

It won't be our bed,
with a soft dent impressed
where your ghost sleeps,
still warming the quilt.
 
The tragedy will hit home
when gold finches land
on the feeder
and no blue-eyed smile
greets them.

When no voice answers the call
of "Mama"
from across the country
where grown children
struggle for happiness.

No supple, green thumbs
to plant every leaf, seed, stem
that crosses our threshold
still barely alive
for your resurrecting touch.

No bright-eyed wag of tail
at the door when you arrive
and find me waiting for you,
hot coffee in hand.

The world's beauty will diminish
with your passing,
when all the colors fade
to gray.

Scott Speck
07/26/2003