the loss

The Loss Dream time, lazy and long, is over It lasted a generation But real life Came and stole the colours Home baked bread no more everything is easy shop bought and taste of the average. I now of a woman who stole Flowers for her son’s coffin It stood there in the snow Grave diggers on strike. But a bouquet of flowers don’t Mind what they were intended for Rootless and decaying anyway So let the mother be she didn’t Do anything wrong, just rearranged Flowers bought in a shop from a grave The had too many to her son’s Whose no flora in the world could hide Hide a mother’s grief