MOSS AND MEMORIAL

These few things I take with me
A covering of moss,
The colour of lime,
And three forget me nots.

They felled trees the other day
To make the space seem wider,
And now the robins fly low,
Braver, braver.

The scent of nettles, sharp,
softened only by dandelions;
We let the grass grow wild
Beneath the bark and birch
and last remaining horse-chestnut.

A man lived here,
Forty years, a life -
No wife, no child, no pet;
Just a library of books
And every letter kept.

Dearest Uncle, your niece here,
I blew a dandelion free -
Nothing to wish for;
You were loved
And you loved, fully.

© Shaista Tayabali, 2012
for Uncle Motu
and the dverse poets