No More Grapes Poem by Terry Donovan

Our Robert drowned
In a sea of buttercups
And we will never know.
Was it an accident?
Did he chose that way to go?
We knew he had his troubles and his strife
But thought he'd cut their tails off
With a carving in knife.
He'd served his time,
Paid for his crime
So many different ways,
Had helped dig up the skeletons
And modified the maze,
But in his greyscale later-life,
When he had seen the light,
He counted stars and spoke to them
Like strangers in the night.
We filled the roads like frogs and toads,
Removed our hats and bowed.
Now Robert's pushing daisies up
Far from the madding crowd.