FLOWERS OF SICKNESS AND DEATH

Aunt Marion God bless her, 
Had a dread of cut flowers. 
A taboo about the ritual of a funeral. 
Be they in sheaves, wreathes or crosses 
Wild, cultivated, tropic or exotic. 
Arum lilies, white roses or daffodils
Pinks or carnations an abomination. 
Pungent chrysanthemums in funeral parlours
Were neither things of beauty or charming. 
Pots of poinsettias and Christmas garlands. 
Even pots and vases outside town florists.
She’d take a detour rather than pass them 
Garden centre and nurseries no go areas. 
Reminded her of blooms on a new grave 
My lovely and gentle Auntie, 
Died due to child birth at thirty five. 
Her blood poisoned with uraemia. 
Came to a dreadful and painful end. 
A premonition she carried all her life. 
In her final hours cursed the medics. 
Buried with little ceremony in our cemetery. 
Never was her grave adorned with flowers. 
Her husband Steve never remarried. 
Her son never knew this very special person. 
Only coarse grasses grow on her lonely spot
But never any wild flower or native weed. 
Her corpse long ago by degree disappeared. 
Has Heaven changed her fear of living jewels? 
You who foretold your premature demise. 

Author's note. A tribute to a very lovely aunty who died many years ago but way before her time. Much loved.

Tags: sad, deep, pain,