For Mr. Crown

The rush was over; the day was done. The clouds went away, and so did the sun. The leaves rustled nicely, and the wind upped its pace. So much as it should be: all put in its place. But much can happen, as some people know, and more lives had been broken, as the day, it did go. Peace doesn’t last while this world turns round, and the lonely man cried; while the tears rolled down. He stood all alone, but four shadows he cast, which were for his children, resting at last. The car had rolled twice on that lone, country road; ending the quiet on their short journey home. He awoke on the ground, to nary a sound, and no scratch had been gained, though the blood, it ran down. He climbed to his feet, only to see, the lifeless remains of his legacy. His mouth it ran dry, and the wind it did sigh. The silence told all to that lone country sky, and when it was through, he had nothing to say, and continued his life, or that which remained. And now in the present, still he does stand, with his back to a tree, his last earthly friend, where from high on the branches, four leaves they came down; four wilted tears, for poor Mr. Crown.