Dying Daffodils danced a slow dance in the graveyard today
I observed the changing of seasons, the yellow and white lovers’ swayed as their
energy began to fade. Making way for the next cycle of summer blooms
The walk through the village burial ground was quiet and calm
The headstones stood like temples – epitaphs stating their place on earth
The church door was open; unlikely in these times of lead thieves
Smell of must and old bones – no priest in sight
I sat and contemplated my day, my week, my life
Fragments of the past consumed my thoughts
The prodigal son – the one love; the only love
I stumbled to a pew in god’s house. I couldn’t see him. Was he hiding from all the sinners?
Hands clasped I offered myself in prayer.
He wasn’t home…