Thursday, February 28, 2013

Teeth of God

I clipped daffodils,
those little teeth of God,
the day your grandson died.

The rain bent them low
yellow bells heavy
face down.

Like spears in a vase
the cut stems still
take water.

The window light,
filtered by glass,
frames life.

Two weeks on the planet,
we're too weak, to stand

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