Loss

He stands quietly,

while all around him

the hustle and bustle of life goes on.

 

He is lost in thought,

lost in time,

lost in the busy-ness that surrounds him,

like a child separated from his mother

on a crowded street.

 

In his hands he strokes a glove,

as if her hand still fills it.

A smile flits across his features~

a brief ray of sunshine poking through

the thick gray clouds.

 

He glances up

as they approach~

and quickly looks back down

as tears fall onto the brown leather in his hands.

© annettealaine-2013
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