She lays waiting in a room, her body betraying
She won’t stand for the thought of people praying
The guidance to stay, to rest in another place
Does nothing to instill any dignity or grace
And logic and practicality were not a reason
For any flower to shine outside its season
It just did and we let it without approval
Only the coldest winter might herald its removal.
She lays waiting and now the winter is near
At any moment, outside the window it might be here.
All the things broken have yet to be fixed,
No care has gone into the recipe mixed.
She will be gone from us when she is gone
She lays waiting and her waiting goes on.
Copyright © 2017 Grant Fenton – All Rights Reserved