The Dragonfly
Outside in the garden an acrylic blue dragonfly takes my breath away,
she is pinned on treated wood, a reminder of my mother's skillful hands
Many a morning I played with my tea set on a dew filled grass,
young blood racing through my veins, as I carefully poured us tea for two.
"The cycle of nature is all about change and shifts," my mother said
placing a touch of electric blue on a dragonfly wing.
Then she would add, "may you find balance and kinship in all living things"
She would take me to the water's edge, through weeds and twigs we'd go
by early morning, for she had checked her flight time calendar
and she was sure, this was the time for them to fly.
I am old and gray now and my mother is in heaven painting
fireflies with Angel wings of robin egg blue, I'm sure.
Though my memory goes hazy every now and then, I can always recall
at will those blessed mornings when I poured out tea for two and watched
my mother add a touch of golden brown upon a dragonfly, of every hue.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment