And the way the mountains looked...

And the way the mountains looked…

I remember his hands
sun tanned brown;
old and warm,
like a well worn glove
Fragile fingers wrapped
in the palm of his sons hand
Once so strong and firm
and then suddenly limp;
damp from the tears
that he quickly wiped away
I remember the darkening sky
The light shot diamonds
from his eyes;
raining on the soft soil
where a man now lays
And the way the mountains looked
strong and firm from the distant;
protectively watching over Priya Patel
a son lay his father to rest
Leaves rustling in the trees
birds silently floating in the air
Even the flowers weep in silence
as a son grieves for life lost

Copyright © Priya Patel

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