Monday 26 October 2009

Hands that age with beauty, i remember tracing the veins that held us. In her arms was safety, wrapped up in woollen blankets and tenderly we were loved. Walking through life she guides our eyes and minds to the beauty that the world holds for us. Every word she speaks adorning our young and curious minds with confidence, wisdom, passion and peace all perfect and precious gifts. Walking through grave yards subtlety she spoke of life, reading out the inscriptions and steadily revealing the briefness of time till she too would be gone. “When i die ... surround me with flowers.” In childish innocence, I spoke out in disbelief. “But you are not old, you cannot die.” Forever she should remain, never old or sick, the concept of loss seemed unreal to me. It is only right that in woodlands she found her resting place, among the blue bells, aging trees and travelling rivers a place to which we would visit bringing a comfort to us all.

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