Lonely - March 17, 1997
January 20th, 2009 by Karen
There is a man walking by the riverside
staring at the water’s edge
watching it flow
always away
into the nothingness that is the sea.
Ponderously it swirls among the reeds
unwilling to meet its destiny
its death.
He sighs forlornly and turns up the well worn path
where the grass grows unchecked
and the wildflowers mix
with the weeds
nodding in the quiet breeze.
Stooping, he picks a single daffodil
her favorite always
yellow petals and the orange cup
brightly smiling on the window sill
above the sink.
Wearily, his pace slows until he stops
the name escapes his lips
whispered upon the wind
and it swirls away
into the mists of the cemetary.
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