she was eighty six
when she turned to dance
some say it was dementia
when she turned to dance
some say it was dementia
yet to see her in the garden
moving above the fall crocus
grace among the late roses
swaying with the cool wind
to see her smile
light as the white fingered
clouds of autumn
you found the way in
lightly through a bed of thyme
speckled with delicate petals
remembering her graceful turning
~Aki
***
So beautiful, imagining this Being, on an autumn afternoon. The sun is coming through her white hair, reminiscing soft clouds, as she is turning through the late summer roses. I detect the fragrance of lemon thyme on her hands. ~M
~Aki
***
So beautiful, imagining this Being, on an autumn afternoon. The sun is coming through her white hair, reminiscing soft clouds, as she is turning through the late summer roses. I detect the fragrance of lemon thyme on her hands. ~M
4 comments:
What a sweet and lovely poem. In youth or old age, the urge to rejoice is the same, for the spirit does not age, only this shell in which it is enclosed.
Peace and Blessings!
Irving,
Let's invite all people to come out of their shells!
Blessings to you, too,
~M
This could be about the Milky Way!
This is simply beautiful Aki-
I'm sending this to my mother-in-law who will simply love it too.
The dance is always calling us to join in :)
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