Bent – life’s tribulations weighty do not confuse this folding with weakness, I am worn – tested resilience nourishes creativity I am muse rich, alive
Natural light preferable to artificial – not the harsh fullness of noonday sun but softly filtered rays – luxurious, inviting. Love too, should be subdued,
Sure-footed she navigates forest floor leaps over obstacles, scales inclines knows each nook and cranny every sound a greeting but seasons pass and time erodes
Pot-bellied, am I: misshapen by age and gravity – more rot than plump ripe pear – still, a vessel for love – grandmotherly vase.
Grateful for the wilder times, days when daring ruled – amassed fodder for stories, harmless antics eliciting laughter – ever more sweet as body fails,
Words are leaves, poignantly bold when sprouted, destined to wither lose their hold – thank goodness our love is a trunk, solidly rooted, steadfast –