Some new white flowers
Bursting from a bush
Sitting in my front yard.
Kneeling by a pole,
Susan looks like she's praying.
Good day for a prayer.
Someone's hammering--
Persistent tap, tap on wood;
Human woodpecker.
A sprinkle of white
Winds around the tall tree trunk.
The wind is calling.
Her walk is five miles;
She tells me she has MS.
I burst into tears.
Little bench is back;
All winter covered in snow.
No one uses it.
A strong wind blowing
Sweeps leaves across the road,
And thoughts from my head.
Which is it I mourn--
The birth of a new season,
Or presence of death?
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