The day I saw the colours in the stones,
I began to hear the tick of the Grandfather clock
Growing slower and weaker.
Always doling out sagely advice,
Advice that could only be considered
Though they shade grey
I always found his eyes to be the most beautiful shade of brown,
If one could consider that colour so pure.
I may not have gotten the full circle
but my segment has been enough
I watch and wait for the crumbling
My eyes will always water
My throat will always make it harder for me to swallow
As I try to force down the feelings that I know will only grow stronger if I try to touch them
To be so selfish as to bring grief upon myself
would displease his nature
He has been waiting by the gate
Time nor place has dissuaded him.
Like a fruit with a thought
he knows when the time is right to depart from the leafy domain.