I want at eighty
Aged fingers aching, you ask from your dustless desk
That I sit on your lap
“Come here my dear,” your mind tells mine, and I run from the garden to you
My muddy hands press each vowel as soft as you silently wish
Consonants requiring more, you place your hands upon mine
The numbers, my math, needs your correction “17-something…” I say
My age, you know, my dear
Tag Archives: Garden
Green
Tea of the perfect persuasion
The wayward garden
The midnight sky
How I’d swim there
Were my arms long enough
This Haiku: July 27, 2015
Whether Storms or Sun
Or the Wreckage of Rainbows
Open Your Windows
Rudbeckia
Those misshapen borders maybe
But there is no unfinished business at the garden gate
Despite what the flowers wish
When they bow their heads at night
They know I gave my best
Fireflies’ Lives
In the tiniest of places
I know where to find
The silly at heart
So lovely, so kind
Throughout the day
The feeding of souls
In a lemon-yellow room
They do dine and reach goals
A breezy tree fort
Where they learn their true names
During made-up mysteries
While good fun stakes its claim
In a south-facing cove
At the end of the day
See them nurture the Earth
Helping love find its way
LisaRosier.com 