“First Days of November”
“Whose flowers is that?” I think I know.
Its owner is quite sad and unresponsive though.
It really is a tale of sorrow,
I watch her frown. And so, we cry hello.
And just like the flowers; young, innocent, and deep,
She has perspective to keep,
That celebrating is more than just singing, dancing, or partying,
Sometimes we can see it by grieving and merely crying.
The grief of loss simply shifts into an alternate sort of relationship,
Comparing it to the illustration of someone’s grip,
On the grave of someone they are diligently trying to remember,
Especially on a holiday that happens every first day of November.
Our act of remembrance strengthens the connection,
That even in passing, our loved ones are never truly alone.
Young minds might have a hard time understanding,
But on the first days of November, we get to celebrate over someone's coffin.