Fresh Flowers on His Grave

Fresh flowers on his graves, but, it wasn’t, from her, she’d not “visited” him, she’d been, ill herself!

So, who put those flowers there, huh?  She became, curious.

Fresh flowers on his grave, perhaps, she imagined, those little birdies collected the flowers, made them into a ring, and, dropped it here for him (like in those, Disney Princess stories???)…

like this…

photo from online

Fresh flowers on his grave, she’d started wondering, who else do they know, who’d, do such a thing, and she can’t think of anyone, and, she’d let her imagination get the better of her: maybe, he’d had an affair without my knowledge, and the flowers were from, her?  No, not likely, he’d come home, every night, smelling like the factory, no scent of perfume, she’d recalled.

Fresh flowers on his grave, I’d gone to visit him, to give him the updates of my goings on, and, I’d, kissed my hand, and, put my hand down on his headstone, to pass that kiss to him from my hand.

After placing that fresh bundle of flower, I’d, picked up the old ones, and tell his headstone, I’ll, see you, in two week………

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Filed under Because of Love, Life, Loss, Memories Shared, Observations, On Death & Dying, Perspectives, Philosophies of Life, Properties of Life, the Finality of Life

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