October Brings the Cold

What, really, do we know,
Of the shift from life to death;
With our childlike, searching guesswork
On the themes of that last breath?

When I'd heard that he'd departed,
Then the child within me spoke;
Asking questions, shouting answers,
Breathing fire, spewing smoke.

Then I knew I had to grow up,
So I left the house and walked
Down the path to that frail seashore
While the child and adult talked.

But those voices both were quietened
As I looked across the bay;
Contemplating - senses heightened -
There was nothing more to say.

Little breezes teased the surface,
And the ripples laughed and danced;
While the cloudlets hurried eastward
With the seagulls they'd romanced.

And the wavelets kissed the shoreline
Over stones that seemed to sway;
While the lighthouse pointed skyward,
From its home across the bay.

Are these the objects we call lifeless,
Like my friend, soon in his grave?
Or is each infused with life-force
From the memories we save?