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.
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