You’re not here.

Name carved on cold grey granite deep

Beneath this clay they say you sleep

But I don’t see you here my heart

This place is not of you a part. 

You are in the wind that blows 

The fertile soil and all that grows

Your voice is thunder in the storm

Your smile the sun light in the morn

You are in the apple tree

Singing blackbird and humming bee

I hear your laugh in babbling brook

Your voice echo from that secret nook

On old ash trunk that grows askew

Crosses the river just for you.

You are where I find joy 

You’re by my side my forever boy.

 Dave Kavanagh December 2014

 

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