Written on May 28th, 2025 for Constance La France's Cemetery Contest. "Grief is the price we pay for love,": as stated by Queen Elizabeth II.
Withering weeping willows shade wrought-iron gates, creaking in the midst of a cool mid-autumn gale. Starless, charcoal skies loom above, as birdsong of nightingales drifts through the evening. Coming upon a worn, dirt-laden path, frost-burnt grass lines the edges, beckoning me to mourning’s sorrow. Marble statues of angels, frozen in prayer, greet me. falling to my knees, I brush the crisp leaves from your grave, tracing your name with my indebted fingertips. Your presence floods back, whilst tears coat floundering eyes. I lay amongst lily-white chrysanthemums, As my home became the cemetery the moment your soul departed.
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Written on May 28th, 2025 for Constance La France's Cemetery Contest. "Grief is the price we pay for love,": as stated by Queen Elizabeth II.