Through vision blurred,
                  I read the words
                  I never wanted to be written there,
                  as you stare back at me
                  with all your permanence.
                  Your newness stirs in me again,
                  the terrible truth of your existence,
                  enticing that lump 
                  back up into my throat once more.
                  Fresh tears await being alone,
                  before allowing their free-fall
                  from the sad eyes of sorrow.
                  Lips withhold their quivering carefully,
                  choosing not to utter unfitting words
                  that might tumble out unwittingly.
 
                  Your shiny, cut features are beautiful,
                  yet represent the unbearable.
                  How is it you eye me so boldly,
                  when I regard you with such reluctance
                  Disbelief still accompanies me
                  to the place where you sit
                  anticipating a change of flowers.
                  Not even your quality stone,
                  can suspend the somber atmosphere
                  evoked by the void in my heart.

                  Time may lessen,
                  but never alleviate the wound
                  pronounced by your presence.
                  Though many others are at rest here,
                  for me, none compare to the one
                  whose life you commemorate. . .
                  whom your luster rightly represents.

                         Carole Conner Davis