Sunday

Andy


Everything seems crude in comparison to you.

You don't require pageantry

Or

Tasteless sprays of flowers.

No color is quite right

And in your jeans and t-shirt,

You make the rest of us look vulgar.

Language is suddenly insufficient

Compared to your quiet dignity,

And words take on new meaning

As I discover that I'd never payed much attention before now.

Not enough attention, perhaps.

Understated,

Confident and secure in your identity,

You were placid and reassuring.

Nothing is the same without you.

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