𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠,
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑙𝑦 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑠
𝐼𝑛 𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓...
𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑡ℎ
𝐼 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑛;
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟'𝑠 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑡ℎ
𝑊𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑙𝑢𝑒;
𝑂ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟'𝑠 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟 𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑛
𝐻𝑎𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑎...
𝑊ℎ𝑜 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢?
𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖
𝑊𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑠ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑑
𝐼𝑛 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠...
𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑑𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔?!
𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛
𝑀𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑠ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑑...

Someone once said that we die twice--
First, when we take our very last breath.
The flame on our candle goes out as we
Transition between life and death.

But then comes our second dying.
It’s similar but not the same.
That death occurs when someone for
The very last time says our name.

So where are extinguished flames?
What happens to the morning dew?
What effect does speculating
Have upon our point of view?

Life has many questions to ponder.
I wonder if such thoughts are freeing:
Knowing that we once had been
And not remaining attached to being.

-by Bob B (10-26-19)

You were everything
the sky, the clouds, the why
I was just me
now and then I made you smile
my heart smiled with you

The sky is empty
white clouds tossing tears
the laughter ran away
now everything is nothing
a grave of memories

Now is no more