Poetry

Grave

It took some finding
but of course he was there
under snow in the February gloom.

I didn't take flowers,
passed the pails of forced daffodils
for sale at the cemetery gates.

He never cared for cut blooms
preferring meadowsweet
lacing the springtime verge.

Years since the last time.
His letters and dates faded.
I expected nothing, had nothing to say.

A spray of winter jasmine
brightened the dark yew.

Jenny Donnison