Forget me not

'Forget me not,'
the old man cried.
'How could I?'
the dutiful child replied.

With one more breath
the old man died.
The devoted child
was left bereft.

Each night before the
child did sleep,
they would spend a thought
upon the old man buried deep.

Forgetting not,
the old man's lot
and remembering with
perfect clarity,
the disparity
in the old man's lifeless
face.

The child would dream
night terrors
that left the child
wet with sweat.

Daylight did not
offer any repose,
as the child
had supposed.

Each day the child
would desperately
hurry to the gravestone
in the old cemetery.

And everyday a stranger
would mutter
'poor child.'

And when the child did
hear these words
they shook with anger
and felt distraught.

For the child
was still alive,
but the old man
was gone, but to where
who knows?

A vicar offered
comforting words
of resurrection
on Judgement Day.

But the child
did see straight through
and would protest,
'the old man was not
a Christian sought
and only fought
for a simple life,
so would not like
a paradise on earth
with many people
and angels
as he was humble, kind,
and earthly, see.'

A young couple
after visiting their infant's
grave would
try and comfort the child
with words of reincarnation.

Again, the child would remonstrate,
'the old man is not
a bird, or a bee,
he is not a Hungarian or
a Bulgarian,
Nor is he a tree.
For goodness sake,
look down there,
his body is decaying
fast, and whatever
was him is not there,
but he is not anywhere else
for the old man was happy
to be only himself.'

Death-day anniversary
soon approached,
a year later
to the dreadful event.

The child could no
longer live with the burden
of his lot,
of having to not forget
the old man's life,
and yet
to remember his
death just as well.

Throwing themselves
down upon the grave
the child
wept helplessly.

Pain inflicted
every part
and every inch
of the little
outstretched body.

Until, the wind blew
briskly through the trees,
rustling up some
leaves to fall down on
the child's head.

The child did listen
for a while
and could hear
the faint murmur
of wildlife's calls.

Breathing in nature
the child laid still.
Tranquility blanketed
the small body
from head to toe.

The child did not
stir and gave
themselves up
to the sensations in
the air.

When the child
awoke on the grave
with grass stains
and wind struck hair,
his wearisome eyes
were no longer there.

Instead, in there place,
were eyes wide opened,
filled with peace
that can only come
from nature's bosom.