You don’t, do you?
Cry, do you?
You don’t. Imagine!
Not to have those waters well up,
...
Having planned the meal,
pre-heated the oven,
and prepared the ingredients,
he set about the cooking –
...
You take my trees and call them leaves
and all the time they’re me.
You take my flowers and call them buds,
but you can never see.
...
Warmly cocooned from the chill air,
becoming aware,
I know, with time, I must go;
and though reluctant to quit
...
Reading
A slim volume,
undistinguished,
I languish,
dust-covered,
on a dust-covered shelf,
unnoticed,
almost
by most.
Only
you
regularly
reach
to read –
no marker
to keep your place,
you
know me by
heart –
contents to index,
each word,
syll a ble,
l e t t e r
and more:
the very
spaces
between the
lines.
Accepting
my leaves
for what they are,
you do not
compareandcontrast;
merely
read,
and know;
and I,
well-thumbed now,
am humbled,
and,
being appreciated,
live.