musingsonwomenshealth.com

As the days
File past
Like old men
Limping into church,
I hope
My forgiveness
Will not move
As slowly.
I am beginning
To feel the rank
I have been
Assigned:
I am travelling
Alone
And yet
Not by myself.
In fact,
I am gathered
Like flowers,
And colours
I have not seen
Before
Caress my eyes
And stroke my skin,
Softly,
Like my mother
When I was young.
I carry her gift
Of petals
In my my mind;
I can never
Really
Be
Alone.