Roses tend to be rather less roses this way,

but hailstones, Nature’s Mafia,

convinced you that life would be safer,

more bearable,

cast in the role of ‘Victim in a Puddle’.

You tremble in your cement boots.

Extortion always exacts a price, unequally applied.

Your grip on reality relaxed

and here you lie,

‘She Was a Good Mother’ carved on your tombstone.

Your fall was silent,

a gradual descent into madness,

and only the stars

are witnesses…