Again, November fifteen,
the date that you departed,
you return to me unseen,
with braids, much as you started,
in springs grown grassy green
before bloody autumn parted,
when you stood on peaks between
thoughts doubted, double-hearted,
searching through your dream
for paths dark, lost, unchartered,
with fears, a frightening scene,
and hopes, like larks, that darted.

Your suffering, your death– so mean,
yet how much your life imparted.

Remembering Burr
November 15, 2006

All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
Contact Bill Schechter