A New Home Concluded
In Heaven
You're in a better home.
There are no vicious attacks there
but beautiful angels sing.
Assured by the florist.
Roses have no thorns,
sorrow is always banished,
discomfort exists not more.
The weather is always mild
and butterflies abound,
flowers produce perfume,
pollen clogs no lungs.
Down here the thunder rumbles
the storm distorts the roads.
Birds hide in their wobbly nests,
fog oppresses our chests.
Still we leave some flowers
beside your cold memorial stone.
Then we tramp back home
across the snowy moor.
Sad but consoled.
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2024
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