Blog about my scribbles. Short stories and poems in English. Because my first language is Dutch the grammar might not be all that's cracked up to be, bear with me...
Wednesday, 8 November 2017
Falling Leaves
I sit and stare at the leaves falling One by one by one As if it’s some kind of metaphor For the time we still have left I feel a heaviness in my heart When I start to think of you If the last leaf will start to fall Will our time together be up as well?
It was for me. My friend Betty has passed last Sunday night. Gently and kind she slid away into the other world. 93 she was. Sharp of mind. She was beginning to dislike her failing body. And she arranged everything. I thought that I maybe could hop over for the Service before the cremation. But it's Wednesday and I haven't heard anything.
She's gone. To her husband Ron. I decided that I will visit Hunmanby one more time in May 2018. Make seed bombs. Maybe, I will get one or two people with me. Maybe even do this with kids. And then walk along the road where Ron's ashes were scattered and where hers ho as well. Ron loved daffodils. Betty loved wild flowers. Guerilla seed bombs can we dropped unseen next to the daffodil stems. And hopefully, by summer, many Britisch wild flowers will occur in the grass beside the road. A hommage to Betty. Wise women with an abundance of love for mankind. Betty loved bare trees without the leaves. You could see the real tree. I think, you see the soul of the tree. Farewell my friend. And thank you...
3 comments:
It was for me. My friend Betty has passed last Sunday night. Gently and kind she slid away into the other world. 93 she was. Sharp of mind. She was beginning to dislike her failing body. And she arranged everything. I thought that I maybe could hop over for the Service before the cremation. But it's Wednesday and I haven't heard anything.
She's gone. To her husband Ron. I decided that I will visit Hunmanby one more time in May 2018. Make seed bombs. Maybe, I will get one or two people with me. Maybe even do this with kids. And then walk along the road where Ron's ashes were scattered and where hers ho as well. Ron loved daffodils. Betty loved wild flowers. Guerilla seed bombs can we dropped unseen next to the daffodil stems. And hopefully, by summer, many Britisch wild flowers will occur in the grass beside the road. A hommage to Betty. Wise women with an abundance of love for mankind. Betty loved bare trees without the leaves. You could see the real tree. I think, you see the soul of the tree. Farewell my friend. And thank you...
Please ignore the mistakes.
I'm so sorry for your loss dear, I know what she meant to you.
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