A poem about a photo I saw in the Orion.

Lace covered tables and chairs,
representing the lost of the world,
never to be used again.
Covered in white,
like swiftly fallen, sparse snow.
Delicate as a child's hands,
intricate as a garden spider's web.
Lonely and waiting for company,
wanting for weight,
a solitary tree-stump waiting for it's boy.
The boy will never return to this world.

(And yes, the last two lines are a reference to "The Giving Tree".)