By Willaby Creek, down South Shore Road
There stands a small wooden cross.
It’s white with peeling gold letters;
On your birthday your mom
Puts balloons and flowers on it,
I guess to make things seem better than they are.
Has it really been seven years since it happened?
Since that morning that I woke up
And there was ice on the road
And my brother told me what happened?
Has it really been seven years since
I went to your funeral and cried
Because, even though you were just
The kid next door, we were friends?
I can remember how every day
You dressed up like a different animal.
And that old fort down in the trees
Between our houses.
I can remember how you and Ashley
Pretended to be dead to teach your sisters
How to do CPR and rolled down that grass hill
That summer
But now you really are dead and I have to admit
That it’s kind of hard without you.
Your sister’s doing okay, so don’t worry
And so is your mom and grandparents
And all your friends from school.
So wherever you are, just be happy.
We’ll miss you.
R.I.P. Trevor York 3/4/01