A New Home

Snow swallows us with discomfort, as we tramp across the moor bent on a visit, a weekly mission to see your tomb. We arrive near the marble plaque the place where you expired the fault of an unknown murderer: mad and unknown. Last week's flowers have been stolen, a common enough occurrence; it matters not. For now you must be playing peacefully in a garden where birds play such melodious songs, where pools glisten and reflect the gracious fluttering dragonflies, where exotic flowers thrive and bloom. You need not our poor earthly specimens.