Ashes, Ashes They All Fell Down - Poem by Robin Bennett
Embracing the urn filled with what
remains of my father, lay a bouquet
of white trumpets. A man's whole life
went up in smoke now reduced to ash.
Simply stored into a collector's grade urn.
Top of the line, the sales woman said.
There was something about those flowers on
that table. I picked them out myself.
I never wanted to ask Daddy what kind
of flowers he wanted. I don't think he cared
one way or the other.
My request for " in lieu of flowers" fell
upon deaf ears. Just another thing I
have to watch wither and die. Slowly
I was never a collector, until a couple of years
ago. With my rain cloud poised stationary
over my head, bad news has rained down
on me for years. I have a set of three urns
filled with ashes now.
I never wanted the urns or the damn flowers
either. I'm alive with my own family, as the ashes
of the dead collect all around me.
Comments about Ashes, Ashes They All Fell Down by Robin Bennett
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You