Forget me nots

They grew like weeds, their seeds would scatter far,
yet digging was debarred, plucking was a crime, 
until the last forget-me-not had had its time;
it’s chance to bloom.

They were beautiful, you said, and there was always room 
for innocent and lovely things to grow.

They bore their petals, fed the bees. They sowed another season’s seed. 
They beautified the concrete tubs;
they had no need for other toil,
this was enough to earn your love, to rent your garden soil.

And maybe that was how you earned our love as well,
uncomplicated warmth that all could tell was from the heart
the willingness to see the best in all
(and even when our best had yet to start).

The optimistic glass-half-full of cheer despite the other half
with sleepless worries stalking near.

And then the Tardis-heart;
some trick of time and space
that meant that every child could
find a place in your affection,
could detect some kind acceptance in your sight
even if the name remembered wasn’t always right…

Only when that last blue petal bowed were we allowed
to thin the matted green and tease the tangled roots apart. 

It feels as if our hearts 
have been there too, the thinning of our lives when you 
and your life thinned and flowed away.

But we can say, with confidence, that we, in time, will grow
from sadness to a gladness, for we know 
the life you left was brimming
with the seeds you sowed

in us.

For my Mum-in-Law, Eleanor ("Granny Lane") who died 21st October 2022.