Out of the Sky

The leaves outside aren’t

falling any longer, but they

still find their way onto my

back porch.


You are not

here any longer, but you

still sneak your way into

my mind every day.


Time moves on and it

doesn’t stop.

It leaves all of the stragglers -- the

people who want to

hold onto the

past --



I have been

left behind.


This poem is about: 


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