|
Wildflower
You looked like a delicate white bird
as you slid
through the air in circadian rhythm,
knowing
exactly where you were going -
on a mission.
You flew here and flew there before me
until swooping
for a landing in tall grass below
settling
between protecting blades for the return
to Mother Earth,
the air itself your epitaph.
Copyright © Susan Love Fitts, 2001
|