The Ribbon of Love

When we ‘tie the knot’, sometimes, when a loved one departs, there is no longer a knot holding the bow together.  There has to be hope that, while we still hold the ribbon of memory, that knot is still in our hearts.

Two people, two lives, but entwined as one bow,
And sharing life’s twists and its turns as they grow.
Together they had all the love and the life,
And forming the ribbon as husband and wife.

The bow has two ends, that’s why it’s a bow,
Both ends can be equal, or one high and one low,
Just as love comes together in parallel lives,
Fate determines the ending for husbands and wives.

The fabric might soften, unravel or fray,
And the knot in the bow might just slip away.
Thus, what is now left is the fabric, unwound
And one life that is gone into silence, no sound.

But the ribbon’s still there, it still has its use,
In the memory box it can be the excuse
To wrap up a journey, to unravel a face,
To tie up a memory, or encircle a place.

The world is still out there, and the flowers still bloom,
Go out and pick flowers (don’t pick them too soon)
And use that fine ribbon to make a bouquet
And use every colour to make up the spray.

Look up at the sky, catch some of that blue,
Take every red rose of every hue,
Take every memory, all that you know,
And make you and and your loved one a brand new bow.