Leavings

At this stage in my life, I’d like to think — 

Or maybe hope — 

That, like this tree, 

 I may have littered the ground around me 

 With my leavings, the poems and the photos, 

But there are still plenty more 

Awaiting in my branches, 

Which aren’t barren yet, 

Though I’m haunted, like so many of my peers, 

By the emptiness yet to come…