the hour passed
the flowers –
some we dried
hung upside down
life evaporated
taking
scent
and
hue
leaving crinkled paper petals
fragile shell reminders
of the bloom the hour spent
some we pressed
trapped between the pages
smothered
removed
stiff
and
dry
coated in artificial fragrance
sprayed from a non-aerosol can
added to the bowl of potpourri
but
whether
dried
or
pressed
the flowers
remind us
of the
hour
before
it
passed
~
for my friend, Terry, whose light lives on in the words he left behind on his blog: https://spearfruit.com/
~
Words and Photography ©2017 Tanya Cliff ~ to contact me
Posted in poetry & free verse. Bookmark the permalink.
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