Like a Ghost Returned

 

 A dry empty nest--
Abandoned home in bushes.
Fly away, birdies.

 

 The fog has lifted;
Bare branches shine in the sun;
A small bird glides past.

 

 Alfred ruminates,
Staring blankly as he chews.
What can a cow do?

 

Swelling from branches,
Tiny globes of water shine.
Moment in the sun.

 

 Soaring silently,
Two birds fly across the road;
Land on a tree top.

Without its water
The stream bed still runs its course,
Like a ghost returned.

Hard to imagine,
This squished piece of fur and flesh
Scampered as a squirrel.

Peter's watercress
Still flourishes by the road;
His spirit, perhaps.