Tying flowers and wasting hours,
As tears blend into the April showers,
The rope that holds them keeps them tall,
But all around, like weights we fall,
And hit the grass that you are under.
A garden will bloom here, and no wonder;
Our cries water the seeds that have spread,
As we think of the things we should have said.
But one day those flowers will fall and die,
Like those on the tree next to which you lie,
The clock that ticks stopped at nine,
And in that moment you were not "fine".
And never again we will hear you say,
"Tomorrow, I will be okay",
The fire you had could beat the rain,
But the tide came in and put out your flame.
Originally written on March 26th, 2015 © Crosswings