Keys

These we find in earth among the roots,
Whilst digging beds
Or mowing the tall grass
Which you once cut
Or reclaim rusted beneath cracked pots.
They keep on coming, rising, almost growing
Out of your absent lot,
Ones perhaps you'd dropped, thought lost
but now you're gone, are found...
Ones you had hidden and forgotten where, are now
Unexpected gifts given, up from the ground.
Almost words uttered
Once mud is wiped away,
That you'd had cut and mislaid
As if now to say something you
wanted to, to us, but back then knew that now you couldn't say.