Thursday, July 28, 2016

Melancholy Poem with Postscript

It's like a promiscuous lover,
he said.
How we kept moving all over the country
Leaving a trail of broken friendships
Every time
It was a tragedy

It had been a poignant meeting with friends
only on our side of the continent for singular reasons

Of course, he was right
and we've been torn many a time

the little piece of you
that was planted in my heart
may keep on growing, however far we are apart

And when we meet again
--we will--
may it be a gentle pleasure
to see what has flourished
of the seeds from your garden


For my dearly beloved faraway friends
who have sown
kindness, generosity, happiness, care,
piety, reverence, and warmth.
I will tend the garden
as best I can.


nathan said...

What a lovely poem. I hope spring comes quickly and often to the garden of your friendships.

We do not only tend our gardens; they also tend us.

Virgie P. said...

Mm. Very true. Thank you, Nathan.