225 days under grass
and you know more than I.
they have long taken your blood,
you are a dry stick in a basket.
...
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This poem captures the total experience of this type of loss succinctly. From the awareness of what little is left behind lying beneath the grass to the acknowledgment of the unique being whose likeness will never be seen again... complete in its sadness and resignation.
I lost my wife 10 years ago. When she died she took almost everything. I know the tigers and I don't care.
i realise this isn't supposed to be a humorous poem but 'you are a dry stick in a basket' did make me chuckle i must admitt!
A good poet