A Summer of Flowers
As I tarried down the dusty road,
kicking rocks along the way,
I stopped to pick some Queen Anne's lace
and daisies for display.
I felt the grime of dirt
and the bite of gnats around my face.
I was just a little girl feeling lonely,
wandering around the place.
Grandma was inside the two-room house
reading mysteries and more.
She was too old for me;
and never understood what I was for.
But I was there for days and nights
suffering in the summer's heat,
scared and hoping for someone else
to give me something to eat.
And when my cousins came to pick me up,
I finally gave a grin.
They saw the dirt around my face
and the scabs on my filthy skin.
They took me back to where I belonged--
in the comfort of their embrace.
I cried as I was welcomed there,
given a bath, food, and their grace.
Poetry by Kathy Lockhart
Read 545 times
Written on 2009-07-16 at 00:47
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