I see you in the flowers blooming
and hear you in the breeze
you are no longer in that grave
where you were gently laid
for that was just a resting place
where you could sleep until refreshed
before you claim your place
and roam the glens and hills
where the thistles
with their spears and melancholy
honour your courage and spirit
and where the wild heather blooms
in its glorious purple hues
no longer stained white
by the salt of my fallen tears
© Ann Bagnall

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