We walk through mud beneath the trees
that offer shade but shed their leaves
on my father’s grave beside the seat
where my mother rests her weary feet.
It’s a struggle as she bends to close
the gap of loss with a single rose.
The sadness of the passing time
is emphasised and underlined
in that simple moment, in this place
where a rose leaves barely a trace.
Frail petals will be lost within a day,
blow red on the grass and away.
Addressing the stone, I hear her recall
their wedding day as cruel leaves fall
and cover the prints our feet just made,
like her vivid memories that gently fade,
blown away in this autumn breeze
that gently bends the strongest trees.