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.