Outside the days of Grief

We used to run in that there field
  beneath the birch, cock-eyed and haunting
      in the days outside the winters snow, and
        well prior to the reach of spring. 

        I don't get out this way much
      these days.
  Though not much has changed.

He never was one for nostalgia.
  I wonder what he would say
    could he be here.
        If he would see the two boys in the field
          the day I left him there
              beneath the
              haunting birch.
          For only a moment.

      It confuses the mind to go back in time, as so.
  The body wants to leap in and join, be that
inner child it holds at bay.
    But that is not how this works.

      Perhaps if he could be here now,
          things would be different,
              choices unmade.
              And he would still be there
          Beneath the haunting tree. 


--Tones