Though she is gone her voice lingers,
like an echo trapped in time,
her smile a symbol of cherished moments...
images bounce back and fourth,
like the moon's reflection in cool clear waters...
casting a medley of significant impressions to the here and now,
now those tender thoughts come again,
like Alice dwelling on her wonderland,
the March hare welcomes me back...
to run down the labyrinth of my mind.
Again I stare in wonder...her photo like a precious painting,
to be treasured in the museum of my life...
her eyes bare witness to her memory,
when roses lived and breathed for her touch,
she had no mind for whispers...or things that did not concern...
but gentle fingers caressed sweet petals,
where fragrance lingers long, her roses bloomed...
a garden of music there to quench her thirst for such beauty.
In my darkest hours, she cried many tears,
feeling the ferocity of my sadness...
though truth be told, I only had myself to blame.
To conclude as the seasons come and go,
the roses bloom and die,
your garden of remembrance
lingers in my heart,
of all the times gone by.
To mum one of your favourite songs:-