They visit the dead, early in the day. Short prayers.
It's cold, and there's lunch to think about. Hungry.
Walk quickly, walk quietly, back in the car. Heat on.
Thoughtful moments, the stories come, we smile.
Been a few weeks. We spoke last about your pain
It couldn't be helped, you were a wreck. We cried.
The meds worked, they dulled and confused us all.
I couldn't help. I could only touch you with words.
Silver birch, a broken branch. The leaves long gone
This tiny forest, by the pond, filled with many souls
Summer's eve, come sit by the water. I listen to you
Your stories of life, the people you met, your loves.
We honor our dead with quick visits, long toasts.
Stories of honor, good deeds and fierce battles.
You will remain in my heart, most trusted friend.
I couldn't help. I could only touch you with words
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Author:
darwin (
Offline) - Published: October 15th, 2024 11:03
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
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Comments3
beautiful. Welcome to My Poetic Side. Happy Writing!!
Beautiful. Lovely words there. Keep writing.
Beautiful and welcome
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