"the gold's turned to dross for you, that little pile of leaves and petals can still be gold for someone else. "
I have such a mental image of that now and it is so hearbreakingy poigniant sweet-sad ~ like leaving a childhood game as the innocence has fled yet watching another child happy in it's play as the game is still so fresh and unspoiled.
Or, thinking of flowers and red-herrings, the fact that I cannot abide gypsophilia, especially with red roses as Dad ordered a boquet of red roses, only red roses, for my mothers coffin and this is what he got (more or less) and he fumed all funeral about it. I wouldn't have it in my boquet.
I am sorry that this dance has ended, that you watch others.
Comments 3
I have such a mental image of that now and it is so hearbreakingy poigniant sweet-sad ~ like leaving a childhood game as the innocence has fled yet watching another child happy in it's play as the game is still so fresh and unspoiled.
Or, thinking of flowers and red-herrings, the fact that I cannot abide gypsophilia, especially with red roses as Dad ordered a boquet of red roses, only red roses, for my mothers coffin and this is what he got (more or less) and he fumed all funeral about it. I wouldn't have it in my boquet.
I am sorry that this dance has ended, that you watch others.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment