The Garden Waits
The smell of my own death
revisited tonight
Of lavender and wet snow
and juniper in flight
It took me back in mourning
to sadness on the run
And left the days remaining
indentured on the come
Its fragrance changed to lilies
wafting row to row
In tribute to a history
last chapter yet to know
Waiting left to wonder
the hour and the day
Each breath of late and step I take
—reminds me once again
(The New Room: December, 2023)
Copyright © Kurt Philip Behm | Year Posted 2023
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