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.
