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Poem

She's a tree with the heart of her hewn out and hollowed,
Hardened by lightning but healed by the rain.
And those precious jewels she collected in pain;
Cherished, they sanded and smoothed the rough grain.

Though within her the darkness was whole and complete,
Each fingertip glistened with a golden green leaf.
So whilst we all worried, “was she mad with her grief?”
She had wrapped safe her memories in an evergreen sheaf.

Now from these life grows like a tree blessed in spring.
From this quiver of sadness love's arrows fly homewards.
Though their shafts have been crafted from sorrow's sharp shards,
Their arrow tips shine like the star gypsy's cards.

So don't bury your love when your loved one flies on.
Remember their laughter, their smile curving softly,
Feel them lifting your heart up when your heart is too weary,
And let their love for you live in the gifts you give freely.

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