Your Garden's Grief
by kayleigh Evans
Each morning, my reflection speaks your eyes
And stories of solemn glances, wisdom, smiles.
Your voice imprinted; unfading;my mind wanders...
The day is just beginning; Spring is coming.
You would have sewn seeds, nurtured the earth by now,
Cleaned Winter from your garden bench
And sat contented, yet pensive in a dazzling Spring light,
Life looming, reaching, and you, grasping at green hands.
Shoots reincarnated, emerge from hiding places,
Birthing new buds, which will bloom bold orange,
Warm and bursting; garden's spotlight; like you.
But your dust couldn't fill the pot in which they grow.
Withered to a wistful mist, yet brimming with life,
Your eyes still aglow with orange, all seeing.
Soil echoes words and wisdom once said
And you, renewed and living; gone from us. Now dead.