LOST GaRdeN
do you have a golden garden? full of the flowers
grandchildren love to gather, or, when the gold has gone to seed, the
youngsters blow to watch the gossamer flight of tiny white puffs against
blue sky and light.
How as we lose this child-rich joy and come to
curse the weeds, to poison and kill. They are too common for our special
salads. Our hearts no longer dance with dandelions, no more see golden
flowers of the field, but are still.
back to prose, JSN
|