It’s such a hot summer that I don’t know
which flowers to bring you
Everything dries up so fast
gets parched and wrinkled in the heat
and there’s enough death already
in the graveyard
There should be a stone at least
shiny and beautiful at first
with simple eloquent words in your memory
nestled in the grass ever more cosily and
eventually getting dusty and scratched
But I hesitate
and hover over your small grassy mound
like hot air unable to settle
unwilling to take that last step
lay the last stone
and seal the tomb with the stone which
forever silently repeats the word “goodbye”
One thought on “Parched Grass”
Whatever is written on that stone doesn’t have to be “goodbye” words.
You can wait until special words come into your heart.
She IS God’s gift to all of us, NOW and FOREVER.