I held him until the last breath.
I told him to go and to not be afraid.
I commended his soul to you
and those who had gone before him.
My tears fall like rain on his grave
and it seems that I do both him
and You dishonor,
When all I intend is to help
keep the flowers like his memory,
fresh and green.
I hear his voice light as ashes
and angel wings in the wind.
Going home they sing sweet and clear.
Memories, ashes, flower,
and wings fill the air.
-BJ Menter, Community Writer