To the angels
To: Hazel Tides, my deceased mother. I'm hoping she will here this poem in heaven.
We laughed and played together, like life was just a dream. But alas, it wasn’t. Life is hard and crude. And there we were, in the field plucking daisies off their stems. But we were really plucking away my days with you. I couldn’t look forward to the future, for you have gone away. We never knew what happened on that mournful night. The past. The past should reset. So I can save you. Every week I lie a rose by your grave. I pray. Hard and long. I am angry. Why was this God’s plan? I shall dye from my grief to be with you.
My mother died 15 years ago. Wherever she has gone ( obviously heaven), I hope she hears this.
