He wanders lonely nights
Melancholy brims formlessly
O'er the dying blooms
Not for the wilting, but
It is envy, in the emptiness
Begrudging his neighbors
Decoration of flowers,
Not him, never his to own
Plot to the right, Rachael Evermore
Lovers aplenty, hoarder of the best
Bouquets by dozens, passionate reds
And poems lined up at her feet
There was Damian Wellington
'Great husband father and friend'
The octogenarian, a squared existence
and a collection of different hues
An itinerant charisma, wild and
carefree, never held hostage
by home or woman, nothing
in life changed pace, except, death
Remorse and friends, afterlife,
haunted his haunted soul.
Now taken root, up stemmed a
Black dahlia, a few years since
In the morning dew, contrast,
absence of other, this was... solace?
Until he walks, in tow with the
long grey mourning coat
Little one, springy against his mother
forlorn in front of the fresh mound-
Heidi ' young in spirit & heart'
White daisies and tears between them
One astonishing sweep, plucks
the mysterious burgundy, with wonder
Only later trampled by the offended adult,
the child feeling dejection
Being pulled to safety, by the concerned
Gifts a second amazement, one broken, next
an apologetic and freeing spell, with.
A dandelion is placed gently.
