A woman clad in black
A red rose in her hand
Curls about her shoulders
Memories move like sand.
The cemetary in March coldness
Bright sun but cold, cold breeze
The crematorium it beckons
Amidst the swaying trees.
Husband, father lover
Now crushed leaves beneath her feet
The silence in her ears
Destiny now to meet.
As if within a bubble
She walks toward the door
To take her front row seat
A final farewell nothing more.