The butterflies stopped visiting the meadow

the year your light went out.

Daffodils were joyless and sadness

weighed down the Barn owl’s flight.

The sun struggled to do it’s yellow best,

The moon simmered in shock.

One hundred fireworks refused to shower the night sky

with colour, rain was colder and stung my face red.

Traffic became exhausted and biscuits stale.

My coffee, cold and clingy.

 

Peacocks screamed your name that night

Tossing it to-and-fro with wretched joy.

And now I sit, vodka-eyed, watching the walls cry,

my shale grey grief decorating the room like

broken fingernails.