By Mike O’Connell 

her death shall smell of roses,
the flowers we leave when she is gone,
when she has to become a scented
shadow, chasing her spirit through
the mysteries of her afterlife.
she will leave a joyful shadow,
reminding us, just how beautiful
she is and will be, when her clocks
tumble from her keepsake shelves,
mingling with un-forgotten faces,
flying, reminding her that the things
she dreams, are the format for
navigating the stars.
she will hug her teddy bear
and sleep no more.