Today would be my mother's 85th birthday. Happy Birthday to the Flowergirl! Here are a couple of her poems:
Not Here
The flowergirl has journeyed far
But has she lost the way?
Is it too late to meet her
Just past the light of day?
Her garment may be streaked and worn
No cause to judge in haste
The wise man and the innocent
Will notice not the waste
See there, the love beneath the soil
The tears of hope once shed
All steps both down and up, she took
Before she bent her head.
The flowergirl will stumble on
Until the taste of earth
No gage of men is made to know
The measure of her worth.
Drained
The vacant page laughs out at me
And taunts just being there
It seems to doubt my faculty
Because I sit and stare.
Are there no words to fill the space
No thoughts that need be said?
The emptiness is lying here
As it is, in my head.
How many times I’ve shouted out
Deep down in my being
Incensed by waste and callousness
My soul with fire seething.
And yet I sit with pencil poised
No match for just one page.
No word of wisdom or of wit
I am an empty sage.
The flowergirl has journeyed far
But has she lost the way?
Is it too late to meet her
Just past the light of day?
Her garment may be streaked and worn
No cause to judge in haste
The wise man and the innocent
Will notice not the waste
See there, the love beneath the soil
The tears of hope once shed
All steps both down and up, she took
Before she bent her head.
The flowergirl will stumble on
Until the taste of earth
No gage of men is made to know
The measure of her worth.
Drained
The vacant page laughs out at me
And taunts just being there
It seems to doubt my faculty
Because I sit and stare.
Are there no words to fill the space
No thoughts that need be said?
The emptiness is lying here
As it is, in my head.
How many times I’ve shouted out
Deep down in my being
Incensed by waste and callousness
My soul with fire seething.
And yet I sit with pencil poised
No match for just one page.
No word of wisdom or of wit
I am an empty sage.
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