I go to visit you and there I stand
Between me and you
Hay, dust, dirt, and some land
A beautiful pot of flowers unmanned
I feel like I am in a church service
But, outside I am
I come here like this a lot
If I talk to you, will you hear my thoughts?
The others all surround me just the same
Hay, dust, and dirt call their names
This is what has become of you and me
Why does this have to be?
I want to stand on the ground, stomp and swear
You cannot be down there; it is too much to bear.
But, I am supposed to come here and visit
Hay, dust, dirt and a flowerpot.
Oh, and hope you hear my thoughts.
©Holly P. Moore
Dedicated to my beloved son, Joshua
February 6, 1987 - July 20, 2012