I Believe
Allow me a bit of leeway
because childhood's impressionable,
capricious to a bit of whimsy, myth and
dream-like yarns that
endear us to something
far-fetched. As a girl, I'd sit at
Grandpa's knee as
he transported me
into the past with stories. One, he
just a young man, spied a
kind and beautiful young
lady whose dimpled smile
melted his heart.
Now she was no
ordinary lass, for she could
pick a weed and 'twould bloom
quince, iris, fragrant
rose; anything you desired. As she
sang, he followed her,
traipsed valley and hill
until she said "Yes" to his hand.
*******
Vase on Grandma's table
was splendidly filled with
exquisite flowers, dahlias, tulips, asters,
yellow lilies; beloved butterflies flocked her
zinnias porch-side. Not a weed in sight.
And I believed. Still do.
by Margaret Bednar, January 14, 2019
This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Tuesday's Platform" I wrote to an "ABC" poem challenge for my local poetry group, Third Tuesday Poets. The alphabet is in order at the beginning of each line.
7 comments:
Gosh this is absolutely amazing, Margaret!!❤️ You should be very proud of this poem!❤️
Sweet little story - and you really did a great job using the ABC format. Grandpa sounds like quite the story-teller.
It is beautiful to believe, isn't it? Such a heartwarming verse. :-)
I LOVE this story!
What a wonderful sweet story, and I was impressed how you managed the alphabet part without me noticing anything,
beloved butterflies flocked her
zinnias porch-side. Not a weed in sight.
And I believed. Still do.
How blessed that love sustained all through the years, Marge!
Hank
Ahhhh...this was an amazing and romantic romp through the weed patches turned flowers. Beautiful writing and just what I needed this morning, a bit of frolic!!!
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