As you all know, I recently lost one of my sons. It’s been devastating, and I’m having a very difficult time dealing with his loss. I’d like to come back to FS, but I can’t write about my grief. It’s too painful and private. But I need a distraction, and I know John would want me to keep on writing like before, and be my goofy self. He was such a funny, witty man. Always had me laughing. He treated me like a queen, and my happiness and wellbeing were his main concerns.
I have a poem I wrote before this happened, and even though it’s late for the Potlatch Challenge, I’d like to post it now.
Today, the mockingbird flew by my windowpane
with tasty tidbit gripped and dangling from his beak,
a morsel to be shared with waiting mate.
He wooed and won her in the spring.
He wooed and won her in the spring.
He perches first upon the garden gate
to catch her searching eyes, her appetite to pique.
Then in their nest, they lunched while sheltered from the rain.
|
