Roses bloomed on your cheeks that day,
In black and white outside the church,
As petals, shed from your small bouquet,
Danced with the catkins from the silver birch.
Cornflowers shone in your children’s eyes
When they first saw their world; your face
They grew like weeds and then broke their ties,
Set down their own roots and found their place.
Unseen, the buds of a youthful mind
Grew ever fewer year on year
Until now – when your offshoots are trying to find
Some cuttings of fresh hope to take home from here.
Winter cannot be changed back to Spring,
The blossoms are gone, and cannot be recalled.
Preserve that final flower, say important things;
And talk, just talk, befo re the petals fall.
© SJ Platt
