What is left of memory?

But a handful of ash,

Strewn along the edges of

A decaying leaf path.

No words to tell a story, no pictures, and no sound,

Just lifeless grit lined up along, this frozen winter ground.

Perhaps with care and reverence?

And with a respectful tone!

But still alone, among the trees

And marked with smooth, pale stone.


What colour and what epitaph,

Would I much rather leave?

Than ash left handing for those who come to grieve.

An azure sparkling smile that brought a tired heart pleasure,

With a pink flashing giggle at some small treasure.

Then wildly decadent ideas, which were shared and then set free

And a ready welcome offer of a friendly cup of tea.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.