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December 13, 2022
I stand in frigid rain
as I stare down at his grave;
holding his favorite flower
which is the brightest red
But it feels as if my heart
is the darkest gray
waiting for him to come back
and put a smile on my face
Tears stream down my face
mixing with the billions of rain drops
as I reminisce of the many
happy memories of us
I reach down to place the flowers
directly in front of his grave
tracing my hand delicately across the stone
waiting to be home again
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I am definitely a hopeless romantic, so I love to write poems with love.