No Happy Returns...

A steady drizzle
as she opens the gate...
smoke from a bonfire
across the road,
hangs low.

Picks her way
through the small,
white graves;
her stilettos sink
in rain sodden turf.

Fumbles in the pocket
of her coat – takes out
a tiny parcel, wrapped
in pink tissue...

tied with silver ribbon – quivers
in the breeze.

No happy returns
no cards, no party
no singing today;

a nosegay of bluebells
says it all, as she turns...
walks away.

The trees sway;
amidst the leaves,
the moist tongues
of feathered missives

do their best
to fill the void –

that interminable silence
follows the ceasing
of the tolling
of a bell.