It was meant to be melancholy, black,

stained with the tears of those in mourning of

the girl before them. She gave them a pact

to keep breathing, keep smiling through the pain

but she didn’t. They gathered, feeling their

acidic tears burning their cheeks, no gain

to be made from mourning the loss of her.

They wanted to be grey, black, devoid of

colour but a splash of red, orange. Bird.

Why was it here in this ceremony

of death? A lone soldier pioneering

for hope, for love, a new testimony

for this loss of life. A woman smiles

from afar, the profound knowledge that the

bird is hers, a lone gift travelled miles

to stain the portrait of grey and blue hues

into something colourful, a new muse.