To lose you

would be a sea without waves

moan of Winter wind

outside as I lay cold in bed.

To lose you

would be the wilt of wildflowers

a bow of small heads around the globe.

My eyes squeezed shut

effort of not remembering.

To lose you

would be loss for those

yet to hear your hearty chuckle,

low and warm

its own kind of song.

© Ali Grimshaw 2017