Life Is What You Make It
Birth adorns the gush of flowers
Across a patch that lifts boughs’ grace
Where Grandma tends a day's embrace
Mellowing the closure of hours.
The lucent sun pours dewy gold
On mounds changing autumn to snow
Her eyes agleam from sprouts below
As dahlia buds peep and unfold.
I gaze to watch her fingers dip
Into new stems between the leaves
Forgetting that age now weighs on sleeves;
Yet, garden blooms of life’s worship.
Today, dahlias lay on her earth
Surrounding a crypt, the flowers’ bride
When glory of morn stands aside,
In languid blush of Grandma’s death.
~
Dave Woods' Life Is What You Make It Contest
by nette onclaud
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