Her Appearance

She whispered my name with "come here my child."
On the old mattress on the cold floor I quicky covered my head.
It wasn't really fear, more unsurity of what I'd seen,
and within moments she had fled.

The rooms were cold in this place we had come to live.
Outside an old graveyard, telling tales of the years gone by.
There were many around my age,
not much older and I wondered why.

The trees overgrown, some breaking, some dying,
limbs overshadowing the earth.
The thin frail stones crumbling, cracking.
A tiny tree emerging as nature gave birth.

She appeared again but in my mind's eye,
and I whispered, "you must sleep.
I cleared away the dust settled upon your name,
and planted a flower for you to keep."

It will grow and fade in the season's changing,
but the blanket of snow will preserve it beneath the earth,
and when time brings the warmth of spring,
it will again grow and blossom in its birth.

The rains will quench your thirst,
and you'll share the sun's golden light,
and maybe your stone will crumble to dust,
but years from now I'll revisit and your flower will still be there,
and I traveled down the old memory to find that I was right.