Posted on 17/12/2010


A childhood friend,
by the name of eternity disappeared,
when in that dark alley,
death untimely, on time, appeared.

The naivety was aided,
by held hands, by scented flowers, picked.
But when eternity’s white flag waved
so close, the bucket stood kicked.

As memories etched, never stumbled,
unexpectedly coloring choices.
With the cheer, the scent still fresh,
a spirit so alive, caringly gazes.

[Written on a day I remembered my grandmother, and the flowers we picked..]