I have painted a picture
of the tulips you gave me.
The occasion that will always be,
just between us, is represented in
the background of fiery red.
They were the most delicate
pale shade, like the pallor of
my shock on the discovery,
and how you fell from grace,
like their petals onto the table.
I painted them intact,
Timeless, like we are
and will always remain.
For love is like a journey,
and tulips can heal, sometimes better
than any convulsion of regret.
The moment of giving
is, when forgiveness wins or loses
and what passes for love
is sometimes, a private history.
Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2016