Surrounded now by wreathes and satin sheets
awash in tears like crystal coursing down
your ivory visage stirs thoughts of Keats,
the onyx black of ringlets 'bout your brow
amen, but that was then, and this is now.
Tonight in forget-me-nots, you'll be crowned
with all the foppish roses thrown to ground.
Forget me now, adorned in widow's weeds
an angry form forlorn for you have gone;
recall me when your touch filled me with need
amongst blue flowers in a summer's field
as first love bloomed and passion was its yield.
Small tokens, these, the blue forget-me-not
to anchor you to me upon that spot.
And, when I close my eyes in daily prayer
an image comes of life and loving days;
smiling, but blue, I'll dream and you'll be there;
touching my cheeks, kissing my eyes ablaze,
and death's cold hand will vanish in the haze.
In ecstasy not angst will we sojourn
as from the gates of heaven you look on.