Twenty years now . . . seems like yesterday, and forever.




Lavendar Daisies

It occurs to me every year before I go

That I have no idea of her favorite flower.

My father never gave her any that I recall;

He loved her dearly but never sentimentally.

She would have liked a little sentiment, I think,

And so, every year I walk the fragrant aisles

Of the florist shop and wait for her to choose . . .

And take her the lavender daisies she wanted;

Arrange them in the vase and keep one for me,

He smiling beside her, my heart deep as his.





Poetry by countryfog
Read 406 times
Written on 2011-05-08 at 14:40

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
I was admiring the quiet artistry of this poem until I reached the last line. What a fine, unexpected way to close. Well done, Fog.
2011-05-14


josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
Sadly we never seem to love our mothers as we should have until they are gone. Only after their loss do we find the simple path to expressing our love. Thank God their spirit still lives and loves our newly found intimacy.
2011-05-09


shells
I found this to be happy and sad at the same time, I think happy won, even though I felt it was to a graveside you were going, hoping I am wrong.
2011-05-08



If I could ask, I would... else we sleuth and try and try again.
It's amazing that some households gush with sentiment and outward demonstrations while others love quietly and even cryptically. Much enjoyed this poem.
2011-05-08