the loss of dream time
The Loss
Dream time, lazy and long, is over
It lasted a generation
But real life
Came and stole the colors
Home-baked bread, no more
Everything is easy, shop-bought
and taste of the average.
I know of a woman who stole
Flowers for her son’s coffin
It stood there in the snow
Grave diggers on strike.
But a bouquet doesn’t
Mind, know why they are needed
Rootless and decaying anyway
So let the mother be, she didn’t
Do anything wrong, just rearranged
Flowers bought in a shop for a grave
They had too many for her son’s
Whose no flora in the world could hide
Hide a mother’s grief
Copyright © Jan Hansen | Year Posted 2025
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