 | ||||||||||||
| Photo by ellirra (123rf.com) |
Bequeathal
For Caitlin and Steven
Unlike the lilac bush that knows
its spikes will weather winter’s snows,
I’ve yet to find the wherewithal
to rightly come to terms with fall.
In forests full of empty nests,
withered boughs, November guests,
I seek but find no feathered thing,
no green remembrances of spring.
All that I have, now summer’s gone,
are love notes from a lexicon.
My gift to you, this fragile bud —
inheritance of ink
and blood.
(by Catherine Chandler, first published in The Raintown Review, December 2008)
No comments:
Post a Comment