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64. The meaning of flowers © 8 February 2018 |
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The path from my front door is lined with maybe more than flowers; each bloom bud stands somehow for love, or joyful vows, or truth… Since ancient times virtues lived nestled in a blue or red, pink or white, petal bed: love felt but never said, for fear; the grace of rue; the cheer of daisies; phlox that cares, adores! And yet my pathway walk is lined with silent thoughts, harsher than thistles of a marsh; despair that wilts and lasts; bereft of hope, since when you left; footsteps fading, heart cleft, too late to lock the garden gate, too late to hide the hate that seethes along the path, in trees, in flowers, in seeds, from my front door. All day I think my ears will catch the lifting of the latch. |