Bluebells for a baby,
blossom strewn along a path.
I hear whispers in the wind
of many years ago- long past.
Never know to me or you,
alive in memories alone.
sibling silence shakes the branches of
this silent late May storm.
Wind blown ashes in the grass roots,
buried deep beneath our skin.
Tight in rosebuds, deep in sinews –
every raindrop, pause and song.
I mark the spot – you are remembered,
with our steps we walk your way.
I scan the words of love and family,
oft’ united: come what may.