The boy sitting ever so still, Not small, but not full grown. Black rimless cap immaculate and new Black are his pants, shoes, jacket about the waist. Crisp white shirt. Not going to school this day. Head down, face not seen. Clutching a bouquet of yellow daisies, Sitting among orange, red, yellow leaves Still on trees in clumps in a peak of brilliant color. Does he mourn? No movement. Not a soul outside with him And yet there is movement. Traffic still drives down the road. Do they see him? How many notice? How many stop to say a prayer with him? She did. It will be okay. It doesn’t…