We step along the path you laid -
each small stone and pebble carefully
selected
and matched,
fixed in a pattern of your design.
We sit beneath the veranda roof,
sheltering from the sun -
each
beam bound
and secured by your arm.
We sit here, on the neatly placed
tiles - pushed and
primed
into position
by your patient hand.
We look about at the white washed
walls of the goat shed -
regeneration;
new life
breathed into a ruin by you.
Now, we sit; in all these legacies
we remember your
life.
Nature's hymns
surround us in celebration.
Literary killings: I am literally penning a poem every week for a year. Inspiration is taken from various poets (see labels on each poem).
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