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.
