I clear out dead leaves—skeletal remains,
unearth a pattern, lace-knit life forms.
Alone in dank earth, (rank, pungent) a seedling
gestates, waits to manifest the beauty of bloom.
Gentle rays of sun awaken bird song, too early perhaps,
for the old man writhing in sweat-stained insomnia.
Across the way, on a rolling hillside, a pregnant ewe
bleats in pain, births dabs of white on green.
You open to the moment, offer your nectar,
then withdraw, leaving me alone in darkness.
Soon I shall return to the mouldering earth,
in an array of colors, flowers painting the world in joy.
Linked to dVerse Poetics where we’re asked to write beauty, perhaps with a contrast element of the apparently-not-so-beautiful. But would we have the one without the other? Hope you will join us at the Poets’ Pub.
I invite you to Link any Father’s Day Poem you have written here. The Link will be open until Monday 5:00 PM PDT.