Irises Again
There are irises again,
full blooms on proud stalks
that tower above the rest.
Hostas are intimidated into smallness
beneath their burgundy glare, I am not.
Last season, perhaps,
but this winter delivered
heaven in a basket; spring
was the definition of fear.
For four months I held death at bay
with wishes, limp fingers, and gauze.
So there are irises again.
What have irises got on me
after a losses like those?
Admittedly, this needs huge amounts of refinement. I just wanted to get something out there to prove to myself that at least the poetic ideas still exist, even if a bit dimmer than I'd like.
your poetic voice will never go away. It's heard in every single word you write...every one....I never fail to hear it. I read all your posts, my dear. just remember that I love you. *hug* Your family is never far from my thoughts.
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