A Flowering

Morning light filters
between dark green of Maple tree.
Blue Glory tops latticed rose.
Narrow creek hums over velvet moss.
Emily eager for the day
tiptoes to old wood deck.
Her fifth year voice whispers
are the flowers still sleeping?
Hands of time have wrapped
that moment into the past.
The flowers are  sleeping.

10 comments

  1. Dee,

    It is a joy to have you home again at The Pub. I love this poem.

    Each line evokes a strong sense of image and emotion. That last
    line is so powerful and makes the poem unforgettable.

    So very much enjoyed.

    Sarah

    Like

  2. Dee, I have read this poem several times, loving it more. I like the images which set the stage before Emily stole the scene on tiptoe. And then her question. I can hear her now. This poem brings to my mind the journal writings of young Opal Whiteley, which were published In the book “The Singing Creek Where the Willows Grow.” As a young child of six or seven, Opal walked the Oregon woods naming the wild creatures after famous poets and musicians. Thank you for this huge gift in few carefully selected lines.
    ptc

    Like

  3. Hello (((Dee)))!
    It’s nice to see you here on the Blog Peaceful Pub. I love reading your poem this PM; I love the mood it evokes. It’s just one of those poems you come back to & realize you’re glad you came back to reread it. Thanks for sharing.
    Jan

    Like

  4. Such moments, so perfectly captured in these lines, are what make this life so precious and so worth living.

    Indeed, the flowers are sleeping and enfolded within lie memories that will never fade.

    Thank you for this. Douglas.

    Like

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