Roses for the dead

Roses for the dead

Roses are for the dead: in each teardrop

We cry for them, roses grow; where we fade

Colour, they gain it from our face unmade,

As they drain us, until our heartbeats stop.

Their petals lie around us, fallen by

Our gravesides, softening our darkened fall,

Peacefully shrouded in their petaled pall,

And all the while grown since we each must die.

And with each petal that slowly faltered,

A piece of each of our shattered hearts died –

We trust in that you are still alive,

Not on earth, but as a spirit altered.

So use these roses meant for the dead

To surround the bed where you lay mu head.