That you won’t always be here.
Curtains closed in final funeral salute.
With the stability of stone.
Each shade in the hedge you planted,
Each bush, the gentle wind you love
The moss that covers your wall.
In a clovered meadow
Your presence is a gift today.
I see you through windows of your home,
Love thickening like hedges.
(Written for my Mother who lives amongst ‘the little hills of Castleblayney’).