She is just rummaging about when
a bloom unbidden falls she picks it up
Silly old woman she scolds holding it
yet it blossoms ghostly
and will not be held lifeless
She turns it over in her hand feeling
its dry texture knowing again
a long ago loving
and young foolishness
A moment
it comes to her that
she remembers it
much heavier
smiles
at new-found lightness
and the bitterness now gone
A time
she returns to rummaging moving on
humming as she stores away once more
his memory
YOU ARE READING
Love in all its Colours
Poetrya spectrum of deeply felt personal relationships, of meaningful selflessness and reciprocity "not always pretty not always fun not just for the young"
