Patterns

By Catherine E. Berry

The pattern of the days is broken now,
No longer must the clock be set
To rise at any certain time – the bough
Is stripped of leaves and fruit – and yet
Though all are gone, the habit is so deep
When morning sunshine floods the sky
I can no longer lose myself in sleep,
Nor break the pattern, though I try.

Oh, those were busy days and busy years,
When footsteps ran across the floor,
When hands reached out to me and childish tears
Must be effaced – but now the door
Has closed upon that episode, they go their way
To make their own new patterns now;
And I hold close within my heart the day
New leaves will bloom upon the bough.

(1955)