Flowers Mark the Grave The path is Narrow Overgrown Forgotten I trace the path that I’ve made in the grass From visits often and overdone But nothing can be overdone for her. The red brick stops and the muddy path starts It’s enough to be discouraging, defeating, demeaning. I do not despair, I know this path like the back of my hands Not harrowed from the passage of time My face, that of the one she used to see With auburn hair and rose red lips The forest seems serene today, like it knows my mission My mourning this morning for love that never was Never will be. There is a clearing up ahead, an old town square Once inhabited by loud humans, and now inhabited by dust and bones Despite the untamed forest that surrounds it This place is untouched by the shards of time. I wouldn’t let it be. It was where I first touched her First brushed back her beautiful black curls First traced the curve of her face with my thumb Imprinted her mouth with mine. The shop in front of me was where I bought her new shoes. To replace those lousy lace-up boots I gave her soft slippers befitting of a lady of her beauty I make my way through the village, Passing memories of time long gone And revisiting the pain of longing. I come to her patch of land I know all that’s left of her is bones, just like everything is in this place But as I lay a red rose on her resting place I recall how her cheek turned the same shade How she smiled and looked up at me with curious eyes. Love, it’s just a silly human emotion. But oh, it does hurt. Flower Girl I make my way up the cobblestone roads The rocks make their way into my boots Bees buzz around my flowers As gnats get stuck in my mouth and hair The journey to the town square is long Tedious Tiring And terribly dull. When I get to town, lads will shout They’ll tell me to smile To pucker up To take the day off Not any better than the torturous silence I must suffer Stones start to fly as I jump to the side A carriage passes by me, and a hand reaches out to grab a flower The hand is delicate Fragile It hasn’t seen a day of work in its life It’s slender and would probably play the harp well The marvelousness of the hand distracts me from the theft that’s occurring “Hey!” But all I can see is red hair and a lopsided smirk. Lips like petals Petals like the ones she just stole. I make my way to town in a haze She must’ve been a fae of some kind Only magic could create something that beautiful. Better to give the Fair Folk what they want and think no more of it But her hair was almost copper in the sunlight, and her hand was ever so soft I sell all my flowers in a daze. My shoulder is tapped, and I whirl around to tell whomever it is off But there she is Eyes a deep brown like fertile soil Cheeks red like the sweetest apples And in her flame of hair lies my flower. I should say something, but then She holds out a flower. Not mine It’s a rose. A red rose I stare Silence overtaking me. Her hands guide the rose into my hair But it is truly nestled in my heart.