The forget-me-nots spill over a hillside grave,
Blue as the dusk where the last light fades,
Growing through cacks in weathered stone,
Holding on where time as flown.
And the name is gone, washed away,
By summer rain and winters grey,
Leaving behind only ghosts of lines,
And a silence as old as passing time.
The willow trees bow with their hands in the dirt,
The evening sky bruises to lavender first,
And somewhere the birds sing their sweet lullabies,
To the flowers that bloom where memories lie.
I wonder who loved you when the world was young,
Who carried your name on the tip of their tongue,
Who promised forever beneath summer skies,
Before forever became a goodbye.
Maybe once you were someone’s dream,
Golden child, seventeen,
Maybe once you were someone’s whole world,
Somebody’s boy, somebody’s girl.
Did they leave you roses when sorrow was new,
Stand here for hours with nothing to do,
Tracing letters that once held your name,
Before the wind and weather came?
Now the moon hands low like a pearl on a chain,
And silver light falls where your letters once lay,
While the forget-me-nots drink from the earth below,
Where all the lost and forgotten things go.
The night settles softly on hilltops and pines,
The stars come alive one by one at a time,
And all that remains of a life gone by,
Are little blue flowers beneath a blank sky.
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