the loss

The Loss
Dream time, lazy and long, is over
It lasted a generation
But real life
Came and stole the colours
Home baked bread no more
everything is easy shop bought
and taste of the average.
I now of a woman who stole
Flowers for her son’s coffin
It stood there in the snow
Grave diggers on strike.
But a bouquet of flowers   don’t
Mind what they were intended for
Rootless and decaying anyway
So let the mother be she didn’t
Do anything wrong, just rearranged
Flowers bought in a shop from a grave
The had too many to her son’s
Whose no flora in the world could hide
Hide a mother’s grief