Winter seems to last the longest.
The frozen ground, the falling snow and the bitter cold cannot chase me away.
I brush aside the fallen leaves, clumped and twisted, nestled down to cover your stone.
I lay these flowers tenderly, their bright colors against the stark background of a fall forgotten.
The thought of you alone in the snow covered distance forms a lump in my throat, and an aching in my heart.
A bitter chill hangs in the air, and the wind whips at my back as I turn away.
Spring is coming young one.
I will remember you when the first buds appear on the trees, and when golden rays of sunshine pierce the bluest skies to shine upon your grave.
By: Kathleen Prue
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