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We call them Joel’s flowers
As someone said
“actually, they are weeds.”
At this time of year
as you did not
I see them at the side
of the road as I peddle past
and wish we were riding
Where they grow thick
I brush my fingers along them
as I ride, I say a prayer for you;
perhaps you say one for me;
say one for me.
So, who decides
what is a weed and what is a flower?;
who separates the one from the other?
and I would rather
have you here than your flowers.
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[Our son Joel was born on July 07 1987 and died on July 09 1987 of a congenital heart defect previously undiagnosed. I wrote this in the hours following his death. It first appeared online in the summer of 2005]