The grave of your father grew a cactus, you took it as a sign,
which you didn't know the meaning of until your heart was mine.
The cactus came year after year; you dug it out each time.
Yet, the cactus came back anyway until your heart was mine.
You poisoned it and wondered why it would not show resign,
but the poison did not squelch it until your heart was mine.
Your father knew your tragedies, and felt your anguished heart.
He saw mistakes come haunting you although you were apart,
so he sent to you a cactus as a sympathetic sign
of bristled grief that plagued you until your heart was mine.
The cactus on your father's grave remained until the day
that your love was placed into my hands, then the cactus went away.
I really love this one, Christine, for many reasons. The rhyme and craft of the poem are both sound and the metaphor of the cactus on the grave is delightful. I, however, have an added reason to love it. My father is buried in an Arizona gravesite way out in the desert...with only cactus to decorate his grave. Nice work. Raynette
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great words Christine, I shall bookmark as a favorite. I am a lover of cactus as I live in desert country. read your work, impressive. Charles Garcia