The Red Geranium
When the pungent dust
and smoke settles
on empty streets
and on the rubble strewn,
bombed out blocks -
when all colour
has been bled out
of the land
leaving a shroud
of deathly grey,
what can we do
but weep
and let our tears
trickle down onto
that red geranium
clinging to life
in a battered pot
balanced
on the last windowsill
left standing
in our homeland.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2025
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