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Dying flowers on a dead man's grave.
Stiffened roses in a horizontal vase.
Someone loved enough to place them there,
but those who pass neither love
care enough to pick them up.
Red rimmed eyes of the generations
seek the blue sky
send our good prayers above.
Daughter, Sister, Aunt and Mother.
Her spirit watches us pray and cry
not in the earthy ground, hidden from view
nor in her hard wood bed or the cold stone of her pillow,
but lingering on in the vase
bright colors of dying flowers.
There until no one is left to love enough
and no one cares.
© 1997 kithan@mindspring.com
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