Red stains on your window sill
And all the songs we used to kill driving through Larches Lane
I remember our walks through Southburn Park and your silly attempts to capture the wind in your hands.
I sometimes wonder whether you can see us,
Can hear what we all say to explain away your clumsy fall, a fall that hit us with a bit too much force, considering we all saw that the day was coming,
Running lightening fast towards us in a stream of silent screams,
The jump echoing the joys of yesterday and the insanity that led your way.
We saw it coming, Lara, but did nothing.