Traces

A tuft by the trail,
A broken egg shell,
An empty nest up in a tree.
A wing in a web,
Driftwood in the ebb
That widens the shore by the sea.
A track in the mud,
A spot of dried blood,
A tire mark that once was a toad.
A pile of old bones,
Some moss covered stones
Once laid in a square by the road.

As life melts away,
Surroundings decay,
I can't stop the crumbling alone.
But time will erase what once was a trace;
A piece of my memory, soon gone.