Twenty Down
by Bob Browning

It was while you were raking
leaves that I finally realized
how long twenty years
really is;

how many times
our trees have dressed
themselves for spring
and then shaken
themselves bare
with the first
frosts;

did those leaves today
know anything of their
cousins before
them?

did each
hand down a memory
cherished by
the one to come?

as you bent to grab
a handful to put
in the bag,
I realized how beautifully
all of our years
have changed colors
and faithfully fallen
to a pile at our feet

helping you finish,
I only wish
for twenty more.

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