it was 7:03 when we got the call
that death had come and that you were gone.
the sky weeped as did i,
and i wish i could bring you back,
i wish it was a lie.
the flowers they gave us to place on your grave
were too bright for the occasion of this day.
your daughter was so young,
she watched me while i weeped,
she even gave me her mommy's flower to keep.
i dried the flower in between pages of a book
and now i have a piece of you that death never took.
YOU ARE READING
where tears may fall.
Poesíawords unspoken and lost, skittering away to plant themselves on paper. i'd love to hear feedback [it may or may not be vital for my self esteem]; thanks for taking the time to read my sad, silly thoughts. [lowercase intended.]
