Black Roses

the dead tree made the coffin
that held a thousand black roses
the roses that hid my mother's body
the roses that were filled to the brim

they hid the linen dress draped over
the cold, lifeless shell of the mother
that was so warm and inviting when
the bleakest of days tore at her child

she left so suddenly, without alarm
could this really have happened
just last night she laughed at the joke
the joke that wasted her limited time

She had to come back as quickly as she left
tear through the bonds of the afterlife
with pure strength and endurance and love
understanding will help her slip through the veil

motherly love would let her brush the roses off
and embrace her child in the same warm arms
that are stone and lead and still in the coffin now
why couldn't it have been someone else?

Why did she have to die?