Linden flowers

In spring, my mother
would send us to the park
to pick linden flowers for tea.

Today, sitting in the shade,
I thought I heard her calling,
but it was only a breeze.

Friday haiku 115

For all I know
I’m standing on someone’s
unremembered grave

When the sun goes down
And you and I have long since left
The path will still be there

Is it possible to add anything
to a life, to ensure no alley
is left unexplored, no mystery
unexplained, no new device,

no diversion, no distraction
to hurry us along toward
the end of it all, the last
deceit, the final jest?

Shall we die wishing for one more
object, a last lunch, an unread memo?
Shall we panic at the end, unready,
as if no one had told us about this?

The ancient oak,
tired of resisting,
drops its leaves