lost in the wind

you hear
through the thinning
grape vine
that is
your own
that one of you
is ill,
about to die,
or that someone
has passed
on.
one of your own
being
of your age,
perhaps your school,
a lover
or a friend
who, not unlike
you, got lost
in the wind,
but not forgotten.
you are glad
though for the memory
of when
they were young
and strong,
full of life,
with so many years
before them.
you are glad in
a vague way
to not have known
them towards
their end, or seen
the suffering that
time and age
will bring upon
us all.