The Pool and the Leaves

There's a camp site by my French place
With a small, round swimming pool,
That gets leaves dropping in it
Which is not too good at all.
So every morning of each day
The site manager would get them out.
Which was appreciated by swimmers,
And of that there is no doubt.

He also used to maintain the camp
Making sure everything was clean,
Not just because it was his job
But so it looked nice when seen.
Though sadly he is no longer here
For cruel cancer took him away,
And those leaves are still dropping
But the pool gets cleared each day.

So as I pass, or sit with a drink
At the site bar that's just nearby,
I often get to wonder about life
Which can often make us cry.
For the man who cleaned the pool
Was nowhere near my years,
Yet was removed from life early
Condemning his family to tears.

Now many of us will leave things
That occupy ourselves and time,
And when we have left the world
We hope memories remain sublime.
So for me it's my words and poems
About love, life and she who grieves,
Over things still here without us
Like the man who cleared the leaves.