The other day I ventured into an area of my local park that I don’t normally frequent, and I cam across a tree decorated with garlands and photos that are usually seen at a roadside site of a fatal accident. But this was in the middle of a village park and made me reflect.
Inside the park an ancient tree
holds vigil of a special place.
Bouquets of withered flowers,
ribbons and pale weathered photos
stay wrapped in fond embrace
about the trunk. A friend’s farewell,
as each bedraggled note will tell
to passers-by, such as I.
There is no explanation:
just memories of someone dear and loved.
Their passing is a mystery
and so it should remain as such.
I do not need to know.
The emotion and compassion of this plot
displays not sadness and distress
but speaks about the wonder and the joy
of one life that was lived and now is lost.