Monday, March 17, 2014

The Virgin Saint Patrick's Day Snow

I walk across the virgin Saint Patrick's Day snow
Again I find no angels by your grave; 
The chill of the air and ashen sky prevail their flight
In this garden of stones where you rest
A pinwheel chosen by your sisters spins in gust of winter wind

I say again here you don't belong
I find no response; no comforting whisper between worlds
The promise of resurrection does not apply to me or you
Only the knowing we will see each other again

Gone are the colors of the day
Token gifts crafted with nightly tears
Footprints march to and fro
Broken dreams of tomorrow