There's a native fuchsia
growing fiercely in the garden
where we buried her - near the compost heap
nearly eight years ago.
The mattock was leaning by the back door
when I brought her home.
'I've dug the hole.
I won't come down...
if you don't mind? '
I can still see the old towel
that covered her soft grey fur
and the pink petals
you'd scattered at the bottom of the hole.
Alison Cassidy
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tsipie-sleeps-here/
