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| John Melhuish Strudwick |
of crocuses and primroses
when she laid her small white hand
lightly on his heart
her prayers for him were like
pale pink blossoms floating
on a river of light
to higher planes
she had found her voice to sing
and with her voice
she was calling his soul
imbuing strength
into his heart, hands, deeds
Around them in the twilight
a cool fragrant breeze arose
and a nightingale began to sing.
Oh just so beautiful. Hopeful. Didn't realize you had written new poems.
ReplyDeleteThank you Anne Linn :) It's so nice to read your comments. I think it helps to write something hopeful, to feel more hope. Haven't written anything new for a few months now...
DeleteI hope you find space and inspiration to write. It's so lovely to read your poems and they help me. Inspires me, teaches me about love. Summer might also be a time when it's harder to write.
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