April rain fell like whispers on grass,
Soft and light like a half felt apology.
Dark clouds wafted overhead in shamed silence.
Distressed by a cold winter’s return.
Daffodils wept and bowed in fading despair,
My Father’s favourite plant was slipping away.
As my Father had done and now my Mother too
Lost to a world of cold whispers and sorrow.
Dead flowers I had placed on their grave so light
Were fading like a memory, a star un-bright.
Still the rain whispered but failed to cleanse,
The grit of sorrow that inhabits my heart.