On the death of an unexpected friend

The last time we met was the first time

Our friendship was etched

In blank canvas; at first

Monochrome.

Prose details shared shyly:

Meals cooked, daily step-count

Rooms tidied, shoots nurtured; then

Colour abounded

From tentative tendrils,

As you painted your dreams.

A soul richly textured

And the seeds of

Your hopes and dreams grew.

Then,

Submerged again,

Slowly, as snowflakes

Consumed you, your soul-self

Receding behind sketched-in

Shades. Yet released

By four new walls that didn’t

Enclose you; fire fought snow

And freed you from gravity’s reach.

And now in the sunlight

Your easel awaits you, again.

So now paint

Your rainbows anew.

And I’ll paint the rainbows with you,

My friend; we’ll daub colours

Of friendship born late

Living still.

Anna Gray