These are not the flowers I thought I would be buying,
These are not roses for the girl I wed.
These flowers bear a message of condolence
Who knew I would be buying these instead?

The time was short from your first diagnosis
until the morning when you met your end.
Now comes the tears of selfishness and mourning;
the pain that comes with losing a true friend.

Februaries in New York are bleak
when winter lingers on without an end.
“It’s a great life if you never weaken.”
I recall that’s what you always said.

We stand on frozen ground at Calvary
after three days spent on folding chairs.
Each of us drop a flower of remembrance
as the Padre mutters solemn prayers.

You never had a child of your own body
or devoted spouse to mourn your final breath.
Your nieces and your nephews now surround you.
Of your generation now none are left.