On The Death Of Petal - 10 July 2012 Poem by Brian P FitzGerald

So what is memory? Why so fleeting?
It catches the soul when time has passed -
Recollections so soft and warm,
But ‘neath the tree asleep she lies.

Why does the past intrude so sorely?
The past is not to stay, hold back the tears
and look towards the sky; the leaves rustle,
a breeze so gentle, so soft so warm.

My Beauty, stiff and cold, rests
where corruption takes its hold.
Now grief returns, I turn away
I look towards the sky.

The garden, where I doze, the sun is warm,
Behind, a fleeting shadow, a softness stretching;
I turn, a leaf, it wafts across the grass;
where once she lay, a piece of fur.

A presence soft, a silky touch
Beneath the tree now lies
Is memory but a fantasy?
The now is here and I look towards the sky.

(Cherry Burton 19 July 2012)