fade

on the window ledge, the daffodils open in their mason jar of water
a dried bud keeps the smallest incomplete
its uneven yellow face turns to me, away from the sunlight.
do I love because I know one day I will leave?
in the garden
the crocus have begun to wilt,
except for the patch that hid themselves beneath the large stone.
in their solitude, they do not know the time to fade.

Norm milliken -

What a metaphor for the bliss of unaware life. I love when a poem seems so simple but hangs around your shoulders for days, reminding you to think. There is so much going on in these few lines.

Thanks, Ruth.

Stephan Anstey -

I couldn't agree with Norm more. The fact is Ruth, you do that all the time.

Ruth Elliott -

thanks! I have a photo to go with it but can't figure out how to post it...

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Monkeys: There are no monkeys here. If you're looking for monkeys, go away. Well, actually there are monkeys, but they're of the hairless variety that writes poetry and such. If that's not what you're looking for move along.

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