The faint smell
Of lavender
And melted chocolate
Is all you left behind

And the fading tones
Of soft Tchaikovsky
Drifting lazily
Empty rooms

Dying lilies
Trace my eyes
As I sit and think
Of your trickling laughter
As you sat
Admiring their velvet petals

Prize roses, picked without care
From sweeping gardens,
Shoved into a vase
At my bedside.
You, smiling proudly
And traipsing out
Your blanket behind you

A high rope swing
Hanging from the beech tree
Fraying and creaking
And finally
Snapping with
A sickening crack
As you plummeted
To the roses below