everyone skirted
beautifully around
what was his chair
choosing the garden seat instead,
brought into the lounge
for the mourners
a respectful honouring
of his cosy corner
his much -loved place
yet she,
child with the innocent eyes
flung herself freely
into his space
for there,
she had only
ever known his comfort
where,
she had once rested
in his embrace
sitting without thought,
yet with innate
knowing that
he,
would gladly have her
sit where
he sat
he,
who loved her much,
he,
who always called her
beautiful.
you flew by
in the old church under the trees your new neighbours their leaves as a grand carpet on that autumn day I stole one away to remember where you would lay
in the old church on that funeral day through the tears
it was not candles nor the cut flowers it was not the music nor the words
it was the visit of that butterfly you sent who found a way in who flew by who even wore black who stayed with us just long enough to comfort our hearts
