These flowers
I put on your tomb
where some call
to the womb
which bore you someday
and gave you way to this strange
summer light.
These flowers
on your tomb,
frozen by the winter wind,
are just a powerless gift,
a futile call to your departed
days.
I don't believe you ever were an angel,
nor that you need to become
one.
Thierry Follain
A Home Made production
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