Emily

We stand with her ashes, laid bare at the ferry, a rain cut sky in slashes, she adds a final note, banishes worries we carry, said life is but a joke, thanks God for her cash, what's not to find lovely, bequeathed golden tracks, more than any other bloke, walking in glum reverie, laughed the way we spoke, In all manner of fashion, love has its own tributaries, contained in tweed jackets, Orange kids wait and smoke, proud at the dawn jetty, cheeks pale as they blow, her elegant epiphany.