I saw a little girl today.
She was giving her granny a posy of flowers.
And I was there, a vampire with my sterile cannula,
Sucking granny’s vital blood with the very best intentions.
I am working, but in this moment I am a thorn –
Stuck-on and awkward.
It must be years since I’ve seen flowers held together like this,
And treasured by such tiny hands.
And knowing what I know, I wonder:
For each, how many more will there be?
Between these two, spans a bridge that will all too soon be a gaping void.
The small girl and her granny and that tiny posy,
All rumpled foil and wilting stems.