They lie scattered like the dewdrops on early morning grass.
Shimmering like the rainbow of colors they are.
As different as snowflakes.
A breeze of summer fun and fresh mown grass drifts across the field.
Is it true? Did it all really happen?
First one, then another, a shrill whistle blown
One blows its nose, they’re wet, but oddly bone dry.
They drift like snowflakes, like liquid across the emerald sea of
grass.
It can’t be. He’ll live. He must.
Though they are tough as nails, stronger than steel,
They’re delicate as rose petals.
One wrong decision, one wrong move,
Faithful like old Trescot was, companionable, too.
Yeah, he is.
(My thoughts following my memory)
A heart of a tigress, a heart of gold, will give ‘til there’s no more
Sis, he tried, fought the whole way.
They keep pace with cars, or nearly do.
He lost the ;on the ground, lying.
(The images dance in my mind)
They come in all sizes, small as a toddler, tall as a ‘Bug’, or
taller.
So small, so much heart, life, feeling.
They move to more choice places, stamping,
Foam shoes on bare feet.
Smooth, suede hides, ripple with strength, muscle and flies.
They’re gone.
He’s gone, he died,
They leave me on the hill.
Alone, with my grief.