Anthology

Sing to me, my dear daughter,
Tell me of your mother.
How her love spread like bluebonnets, Like the hue of a sunflower,
Magically bright.

Walk with me, my dear son,
We don’t have to say a word.
You’re a dreamer, like her,
Always dreaming of what lies past this world. But unlike you, my dear son,

She no longer has to dream.

Talk to me, my dear wife,
Be with me on this lonely night.
I see you everywhere,
In our daughter and our son.
I still can’t believe you went before me.
It was supposed to be me; it was supposed to be me.