Grave Promises Poem by Ian Bowen

I will visit you every Sunday without fail
Croaked the man who had lost his love
I'll bring big bunches, talk of happy days.
Carry a blanket to mop memories,
Not look at the clock, but desire to stay.

I will see you every other Sunday, no fail,
Affirmed the man resigned to losing his love.
I'll bring a bunch and tell of my life.
Bring a tissue... just in case.
Not worry about he time, but desire to stay.

I will be here every month, regardless,
Declared he with a new love.
I'll bring a flower and tell of her.
Flick a tear, if one appears.
Not move my sleeve, for a minute or more.

I will attend on your birthday every year,
Promised he who had forgotten.
Clear the weeds and tidy all,
If I can remember where you are...

If I can remember who you were.