Written some years ago after my father died.
Vermilion roses rest in ivory
carnations, tenderly entwined with grief.
I place this meagre gift in memory
of you – my stalwart. Stunned with disbelief
foundations fold. I struggle to compose
internal tremors, close outpouring eyes
and kneel on turf that blankets your repose.
Despair subsides because I realise
you’ve not abandoned me but still uphold
collapsing structures, like a cornerstone.
Your presence tarries, sturdy walls enfold
my emptiness. Although I came alone,
your solace wreathes me, while we walk away
together – leaving only this bouquet.