Three times around, the circle must grow,
With long-lost keys, and garlic cloves,
Mounds autumnal: willow leaves,
Scented oil, poured to please,
On dark, foreign stones,
And much-loved bones –
gone too soon.
Solace,
Grief?
Three times around, the circle must grow,
With long-lost keys, and garlic cloves,
Mounds autumnal: willow leaves,
Scented oil, poured to please,
On dark, foreign stones,
And much-loved bones –
gone too soon.
Solace,
Grief?
Discarded Recollections 