Stood under the old sycamore
       gazed up through the shadows
through the branches
       at the pale blue sky
the foliage now thinning
       many leaves underfoot
their colour faded to dull rust
       with the texture of wafer thin
friable parchment curled by age
       and days away from dust
the green seeds still clinging
       to dear life but with dry
stiff brown wings all ready
       to take flight

: twins
       I thought or lovers
joined together in a kiss
       but o so soon to be separated
in the relentless cycle
       of life and death and afterlife

John Lyons

Reprinted from yesterday with two modest alterations