A pebble, a puddle,
Some moss, make it double
A pavement less travelled to visit the souls,
Where bittersweet memories and tears echoes.
You won’t find those gnomes.
A tomb that lays among the rest,
Read “In Memory Of Dear Martha Bourges”.
Brings broken bits of bouquet
No tears, no words,
Just nature for the girl.
As though her soul was yesterday departed.
Like the eyes of a lover so keen,
For he knew she loved the colour green.
Left behind were trails of a canine.