Your Grave is Like Christmas in July

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I saw your grave today

Apart on the side of a hill. 

Somewhere between the

cemetery and the road. 

As if sliding away

Might mean you’re not

Quite there. 

We all are I suppose,

Somewhere between 

That resting place

And journeys road. 

Fresh tilled earth 

Piled higher than the others 

Catching my eye. 

But it was my mind that

Grabbed hold of those 

Plastic poinsettias. 

Glittering bright in the 

July sun. 

Set there at your feet

For reasons unknown. 

Bright red and white

like eyes of those so loved but left behind. 

Plastic poinsettias, 

my mind couldn’t fathom… 

No roses, no lilies

Not the everyday beauty

Most of us define

Plastic poinsettias 

How could I judge

A love so deep, 

nor the memory behind them.



2 comments on “Your Grave is Like Christmas in July”

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