That time of year

Here it comes again, 

That time of year 

When the Fallen Ones lie, 

Blood-red upon the ground 

Until they fade to brown and blend 

 Into the grass and dirt on which they fell, 

Once green and lively, 

Once brilliant, now slowly obscured with time: 

Who then remembers those once famous, 

On everyone’s lips until 

 Loss rendered them invisible? 

The candidates and teachers we once loved 

Whose names no longer linger in our brains; 

The dates and friends that seem 

 To have now become, not “Wow!” 

 But “When?” And “Who?” 

All things and people pass with time, 

Yet still we ache to see the first one fall.