I never saw until this wet spring those tiny dark purple flowers on the bush near the letterbox the one with variegated leaves it’s bare of blossoms again now, come and gone like crying it’s the washing of time suds like purple flowers or the throat-grip of tears it’s the wetness makes the tears and the wetness that washes them away leaving those empty cheeks... or gutter the bush is grateful for the rain but the rain makes the flowers fall and the gutter takes them away until the bush enjoys another sodden spring
Circles
Published
Out of the Cave 
There’s both sadness and consolation in these lines: I like it!
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Thank you! It wandered out of me quite unexpectedly.
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I hear a hint of sadness in your ‘voice’, but also knowledge of what’s to come. Future. It’s all to come in your future.
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it’s true: the bushes in my little backyard are blossoming like never before: a glorious array of … you’re inspiring a poem 🙂
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Good oh!
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I love that line ‘sodden spring’ ; it has been very much like that — and apparently we’re heading into a La Nina event: I don’t mind if it means no heatwaves 🙂
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Ha ha. Couldn’t agree more. So many people are aching to get into summer but I must admit I don’t mind if we just kind of stay in a kind of warm grey patch between spring and autumn.
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I like that: ‘warm, grey patch’ 🙂
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