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Poem

The rose was fragile in its beauty,
Its hue the colour of romance novels and warm tea,
But these flowers aren’t flickers of flames in winter,
They were cold,
They were your soulless eyes staring up at me from a casket. 

You became the still image of everything you should never have been,
Your hair was too neat,
Your honey blond fragments a solid streak,
It was always untidy,
No wonder you were loved so widely.

You were never a rose,
Never dainty nor small,
Pesticides and gloves were never needed,
You always grew tall.

I could touch you without bleeding,
Your thorns never pierced my skin,
You helped me grow,
But now you’re gone,
No sunlight or rainwater tears will ever bring you back.

When I sit in my garden and I watch the sunflowers turn towards that sun,
It hurts a little less to have lost a loved one,
But now I understand.

Not why you had to die but why you lived,
Your life was a garden of memories and breath, 
Of the mellow sun striking the petals of yellow sunflowers,
That was you Cath,
You tilted towards everything bright,

Sunflowers litter my garden now,
A sea of sunshine smiling faces,
You are never dead,
For the blazing memory of you keeps every nook and cranny of my garden alive.

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