Echoes Poem by Dianne Feaver

After your death, a hard spring rain
drenches the woods and last year's leaves
And as the skies empty, I stand alone
in its coursing stream, mute,
shocked, near lifeless as the trees.

And I strain to hear you call my name
in the symphony of clear liquid notes
dripping from the spouts and eaves
and greet again your lightest footfall
by the silent, unlatched gate.

And if I am not the one to listen,
who will chance to hear you?
Will there only be the mourning doves
breathing out in sorrow
their gentle question...Who?