I am not in the ground;
do not look for me there:
I am the gentle wind that caresses your hair
I am the spring tide rising before crashing to shore;
I am the spring light that kisses your face
and what’s more
© Experimentsinfiction 2021, All Rights Reserved
Today would have been my mum’s 63rd birthday. I was 8 when my mum died, and I didn’t go to her funeral, as I didn’t like the thought of her being reduced to ash and buried underground. I preferred always to go to her favourite woodland and remember her there. So I’ve composed this very short poem in honour of her memory.