Suicide at Eighteen
warm spring day of blossoms
clearness in the air
gentle breeze comes tugging
to carry you away
today the gusting, supple wind
is blowing, dancing hard
your own translucent cheeks
are glazed & stiff
brite eyes rigidified with silence
you stopped
but trees sway from the gale
urging us to move
spring flowers losing your scent
to the sky
wind pushing us onward
Copyright 1986, edited 2006 njTare
