As I stand on the cold hard ground I think
to myself how did this happen?
First you were here, then you’re not.
I look over to crying relatives and Aunt Clara
with a single tear down her cold rosy cheeks.
Then I look back and think what if you stayed?
What if I could see you again standing tall
and proud as usual?
Then the tears would remain no longer
and dissipate on all the downed faces.
What if you didn’t have to say that painfully
long goodbye?
It would have given us hope.
Would we shake it off?
I ponder if we ever will.
Then I look back down to your icy morbid grave and ask,
What if you stayed?