It was a fitting day for it,

sun shining bright and hard

in a flinty sky.

The bitter wind chilled hands

so they could be warmed by

‘why do we only meet at funeral’ handshakes.

Gentle words spoken, memories

given wings to bestow

butterfly kisses on tear

dampened cheeks. Silence

weighted, shared, bound us

in the reality of her passing.

I t was a fitting day –

I just wish we could have soothed her with a song.