Must be these moments dipped in frost
That makes me ponder wonders lost
To love’s inevitable cost
Or maybe it’s the fellowship
Of day-to-days that deftly slip
Like petals, inaudible drip
…from touch into that place of years
Where, in fond fashion reappears
An echo-land in salty spheres
So that the pen cannot ascribe
With ink the yen that aches inside
Of Time and its betokened tide
© Janet Martin
"That's a Nice Hibiscus..."
'Oh, help' said the young, beautiful, willowy woman
inside the door of my laundry room, as she came to pick up her little preschooler.
'I must be getting old! I just said 'that's a nice hibiscus' as if I knew anything about flowers,
but I am starting to notice flowers, like my mother!'