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~~

My thoughts let go of a thousand memories,
     Like faces, dates, times and places;
Yet, I can easily recall each and every detail,
               On the day of your funeral.

                                    O the grieving . . . 

In the middle of a snow storm I followed,
     And the wind blew back my long hair;
As we meandered down a winding cold path,
                The wild storm paused in the trees.

                                    O the weeping . . . 

Snowflakes fell on me from the tangled branches,
     Falling like crying tears cascading down;
I am lost and moaning in this forever, ever memory,
                  And now the snow drifts in the cemetery.

                                      O the sadness . . . 

A headstone is buried deep in the pure white,
     And but one engraved word is revealed;
In this pristine cold, dead winter wonderland,
                     Only one word can be seen, mother.

                                        O the lamenting . . . 



              Hidden beneath the snow . . .

                   I will treasure your arms last embrace mother
                               Till this heart stops beating . . . .




_________________________________
September 24, 2014


Poetry/Verse/O The Grieving
Copyright Protected, ID 09-602-798-24
All Rights Reserved, 2014, Constance La France

Entered into the contest, A poem not entered in a contest, 
sponsor, Poet Destroyer Judged 2014

Fourth Place

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