By myself at a funeral wake,
Grief wiped my tears and knocked sense into my head.
It said -
Silly, silly, silly!
Grief is the thing that is born out of love.
A pain paid by the folly in love longing,
To escape the vanishing in a stormy whirlpool and
Beat through the new dawn a pensive sunrise!
The beloved gone now say -
For it is not my passing that is sad but your
Loneliness that memories of me must now be remembered
Fondly, as you live out your life bravely without me.
Grief can pour regrets and wish to better a loss but
It is mine, the leaver’s heart that passes you Grief in three roses,
Never withering as I had already died
For them to live just so you can see that
The first rose was the whole universe in the shape of my existence,
The second rose was the sand of my memories and the
Doneness of my purpose, promise and possibilities,
While the third rose speaks of all our dreams
That drew strength and the goodness of being together.
Do you have ours and yours to see?
The roses are in your Grief.
They do not weep silly to be your beacon,
In all due respect to Grief or me,
The dearly departed.
- Vander