Service

I roll out of colors,
the wind and the hush –
the setting familiar
so green and so lush.
The sunlight bears witness
to the grain in the wood.
I would come to you, Darling,
if only I could.

I would come to you,
tenderly placing my hand
in the small of your back –
that familiar, warm land.
And in whispers I’d write
one last love letter, Dear.
Do not linger in sadness,
that I am not here.

Give your tears, my Sweetheart,
as the wind blows consent
and the rifles all fire;
Count your grief fully spent.
Find a place in your memories
when joy was in flow;
pack your bag with those pictures
and pick up and go.

20120803 - Lowell's funeral - 06 - removing th...

Advertisements