The PATH.

THE PATH.

I remember how

You painstakingly

Laid The Path

Crazy paving on a hot summers day

Slotting the stones together, neatly as a jig-saw.

A short path, leading to nowhere, a dead end.

Completing our perfect cottage garden

With Hollyhocks and Lupins

Roses scrambling over trellis and wall

And Honeysuckle scented evenings.

We briefly enjoyed

Those transient moments

The path remains throughout the seasons

Buried under withered leaves, frost and snow,

Emerging in summer as a poignant memory.

Without realizing,

You laid your own memorial,

For you are The Path, The Path is You,

Your essence absorbed, preserved in the stones.

Copywrite Patricia Petres.

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