I visit you often,
not as much as I should.
Talks used to be full of laughter and love,
this cold stone doesn’t give advice quite like you could.
Each time my car turns down that drive,
it’s a reminder that I can’t turn back time.
God knows that if I could,
I’d lay me in the ground,
I’d keep you as the one up here walking around.
Would you visit me here,
if I had gone first?
Would you sit here in the cold,
unable to muster up any words?
I have so much to say,
but the words refuse to ever come out.
I’d like to think you understand me anyway,
even through the tears pouring down.
Shania Feck
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