One thinks of candles at a time like this.

She had a go at both ends,

Grabbing life with both hands

Without wavering.



But it ends as it began:

With awe and wondering and tears,

Though this time prematurely.

(“Snuffed out”)

And this time the tears shine for what is lost,

Rather than for what is begun.

*     *     *

And here we were,

Arrogantly counting days

On widespread fingers,

Fretting about the wind;

When while what was cupped in our hands, is now

Immortalised in cyberspace.

Like a still-life painting on a gallery wall.

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Filed under death, poetry

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