While we mourn in different ways,
While we wear no black for days,
No dark bands strapped tight,
Or veils to hide out painful light.

While we lack a sombre tear,
While we don’t view your name with fear,
And speak it in the club that’s stayed
Remembering the (grumpy) part you played.

While we can laugh over a drink,
While we find smiles for what you’d think,
Or say about that brand new prick,
No ginger here: still makes us sick.

While we must move where you once did,
While we now hide what must be hid,
We still carry you with us.
You still stay the same.

When we feel March starts on us,
When we watch the sun cause your fuss,
Contesting with the hail that blows
Whipping fury at the soft pink rose.

When this stops all else we know.
When your past must now forgo,
The loss of smiles whilst all we feel;
The pains that runs us through like steel.

When we mourn in different ways,
When we sometimes wear no black,
You’re always there,
But you never come back.

Chris Bearman, 7th March 2010