I remember how you used to bring me my favourite flowers.

Each spring amidst the showers you would roam the Earth,

Searching for the bluebells and hawthorn to decorate the mantle.

Even when your health was failing,

You bought me store flowers.

Even when we knew that I would be alone again soon,

You brought me the brightest bunches

When you held me in your last embrace,

My heart shattered with the blow.

I watched your kind eyes lose their light.

I watched you struggle to take breath.

I listened as I heard you croon,

'My little wildflower, my love,'

And with that your body grew limp in my frail arms.

Now when I awaken in the morning,

The weather reflects my sombre mood.

My soul weeps, yet each spring I return to the meadows,

Where the rainbow ends, where the wildflowers grow.

It is here I return the years of flowers you gave me.

It is here I lay the bluebells and hawthorn,

On the soil of your simple grave.