A bunch, a wreath or a bouquet
Mute testimonies of condolence
An expression of grief without words
That seem inordinately inappropriate, inadequate
A final way to bid adieu to the departing souls
Often with dewdrops of unleashed emotion
Glistening on the petals ,in homage
Left over the closed coffin,
By the graveside, to give a fragrant farewell
And then each coming year on the same day
Also on other personal red-lettered days
A wreath, a bouquet or just a rose
Sits on its own by the faded tombstone
A silent sign of remembrance
A tribute of  love, left there
In some moment stolen from
The mindless race of survival
That breeds amnesic tendencies
It lies there, forlorn, forgotten
Withered by the scorching rays of the frowning sun
Its petals once soft, fresh, dewy
Wrinkled ,faded and crumpled
With  a rough papery feel
The fragrance lingers faintly
And is now stale and almost putrid
The breeze of the graveyard having mingled with it
The momentary flash of memory has died
As the relentless race of life continues
And in the solitude of lined tombstones
This floral epitaph lies reminding
That a lovable soul who walked the earth
And is now put to rest in the grave
Is still remembered
And continues to live on
In the cherished memories of some
Beyond the annihilating confines
Of death…