At the bottom of my yard are three pines
of varying statures, the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
I stare at them as breezes caress my cheeks,
birds sing of hope as I remember lost loved ones.

First my father, brother, mother, brother, husband
and sister, each new grief compounded by the previous.
The three pines instill hope that they are at peace
and united again looking down with love.