Spring and Summer, fall and withers, the winds of time blow Autumn leaves, a crisp white lawn shelters snowdrops and the ball rolls again and again and again...
I wake up every morning, and see your face looking at me from the picture of our first date. A memory in a frame, you always say.
'Ashes to ashes, dust to dust' a maudlin tune, carried far by the breeze, o'er the hill, through winding trees and down to the old graveyard grim. Bone white headstones covered in flowers,