A ROSE FOR RICKEY
We visited our dear friend's grave today
as mockingbirds, wings flapping happily,
played care-free chase among the trees;
as two plots down 'tween stones of grey,
a snake slithered beneath warm leaves.
Then the raindrops came, in sprinkles at first,
pattering ebony polka dots on our clothes,
as fresh-cut roses, slowly dying in a vase,
danced to the cold pelts from a cloud burst
and a lawnmower humming... out of place.
We stood for a while as the world passed by,
his widow arriving as the summer sun beamed anew.
Umbrellas shut, we chatted, pondered the ground,
'til we had to leave her there, glancing grave-to-sky,
a lone fragile rose... and the rain kept pouring down...