I heard her voice in the crickets' sweet melody late in a summer evening.
I saw her beauty in a single red cardinal lit upon an evergreen pine in wintertime.
I felt her soul breathe new life in the cool warmth of a spring morning.
I smelled her perfume in the earthy caress of that fall's sunflower harvest.

Now the crickets have made my home their own.
Their songs have brought tears every night.
The red cardinals often stop by to dine.
I leave seed out year round in hopes they might.
But the breath of spring is still a pain to this fragile heart of mine.
I replant our garden each year to help me fight--
But I am losing to this hollow ache.
And fall-- how the fall torments me.
For years I have toiled over her memory--
And I am afraid that perhaps this sunflower harvest might be my last.

© caspershay