Darragh

Poetry by Nicole Plumridge
Photo by Mike Hindle

The morning dew hangs heavy
on the petals of a heavy heart.
As the tear drops trickle down the stem,
sparkling sadly in the grass, forgotten gems.

Bending in the icy breeze,
the wilting flowers bow their heads,
staring solemnly down
at the cracked, crispy ground.

As one soft petal falls,
landing deftly on the earth,
the rest cluster together and stall
not wanting to meet their grave of dirt.

But as months swiftly pass,
as winter blends into spring,
there will bloom a vibrant mass
of blossoms raising their heads to sing.

Singing for the blurry sun
who spreads her hazy rays
or singing for the pattering rain
that pours down in the month of May.

For even though there are times of despair,
when the blossoms melt away
the fragrant beauty of their memories remain
with every single dawning day.

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