Lipstick a word, in many a song,
Gentle love and accusing wrong;
But the lipstick of grief is another thing,
Moulded shape with a memory sting.

Remove the top from the metal tube,
Twist the prison of the coloured hue.,
View the shape of the lips now gone
Moulded still in a memory song.

Fingerprints make a man unique
But a worn lipstick will also speak,
Of lips no longer there to kiss,
A smile, a pout or words to miss.

And so it was as 1 raised the tube,
A lipstick case used by you,
'Twas then 1 saw the moulded shape
And my soul cried out to death in hate.

Still yet 1 touched my lips with thine,
Cursing death as 1 smoothed a line,
No matter the tears that flowed my face
1 knew my action had a place.

For now the mould is double fold
Grief no longer in its hold;
Your lips are free, living still
God has touched me with His Will.

© Helen Catherine Cramer
From book Day by Day August 1984
© Helen Catherine Cramer

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