It’s coming on a year Since life and death danced; Helix of fading and birthing, Each strand their own; Yet spun together In life’s tapestry. I strain to hear whispers Of whom has since passed; I glimpse each morning fading shade on field bounding. Yet that was then, And now is new… No different; As nothing is new Under this old sun. Yet you, my new companion, Are still a few weeks short Of your first trip; One we started together On your tenth day. Would that you met your Precedent; to learn The vigil and rules she kept. To learn how to whisper, And play these games of ours. But, I suppose, I’m not To old to learn These games of yours. Time is all we have and flows as tears.