Today, as the snow studded wind gusts
unmercifully about the roses
Tearing petal from stem with it's harshness...
This springtime squall
My thoughts are turned to you
Thoughts of sunshine and of laughter
Of holding you up to see the monkey in the mirror
Playing hide and seek
hearing your squeals of delight
as you'd round the corner and I'd grab you up
to tickle you
You are like that poor rose
your life ripped from your sweet body
like that petal torn from its stem
from a storm
out of season.
I miss you, honey.
My child, death is cruel.
recommend this
email
print
link to this page
Comments: 3
Hugs