A crude white wooden cross
Leans against the rusted guard rail
Where 10 days ago, I sat leaning
On the other side,
Fishing in the warm
And refreshing morning sun,
Sipping the delicious sweetness,
Of the spring breeze
Like a luscious citrus cocktail,
Lost in the revelry
Of such a fine morning,
The kind that makes life
So much worth living.
A crude white wooden cross
Leans against a guardrail
Where 9 nights ago, a hero’s
Life came to a tragic end with the
Harsh deadly crack of a single gunshot.
A crude white wooden cross
Leans against a guardrail
Where this morning I stopped and
Placed a handful of tulips
I picked from my garden
And shed tears for someone
I had never met,
Lost to life, to the beautiful joy
Of all that spring has to offer.
It is another beautiful day,
For me at least.