There’s a whisper of sadness in the crisp November air;
solemn raindrops adorn the bare tree branches
like bejewelled tears.
The sun peaks out and smiles wanly
at the confused pink flowers
which have emerged so late in the day…
How soon will the cold kill them,
turning their girlish blush into brown rot?
Memories creep closer like Christmas.
Loss hangs at the back of my throat—
waiting to pounce!
Just East Of Crazy Land 
This is very beautiful Anna, but I am sorry for your loss.
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Thanks, Nico. Sometimes special days have a way of bringing up memories of my little one. Thanks for your kind words.
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May you continue to have peace and comfort.
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