Hiraeth Poem by Butch Decatoria
Hiraeth
The aging blind man at the florist's
Recalls his vision, his statue'd youth.
Here, the sensation of scent
Is a meadow of heartache
When days were alive as fresh bouquets,
Nostalgic now to go see his love.
Alas when sight was fragrant...
He carries her lilies out the door,
Old and blind,
A man holding on to all memories
Of bright before's.
Alas when life was fragrant…
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4/26/2024 8:55:23 PM # 1.0.0.1119
