This was originally posted on March 9, before I had gotten much attention at all here on OS. I hope you enjoy it.
Spring
My father died some fifteen years ago.
Azaleas sang. The spring was at its height
With blowing petals everywhere, like snow;
Our sadness lost to dogwood, and the sight
Of everything in bloom spoke resurrection.
The color brooked no compromise with grief
And every spring I still see his reflection
When rhododendron shows its newing leaf.
Today I nearly stumbled on a crocus.
A single color, born of dirt and sun,
And heralding the season into focus,
Reminding me of all I haven't done,
And here and there, a love all unbegun.
A thank you to my father. From his son.


Salon.com
Comments
Nothing to add. Just : great.
anna1, I 'm very happy that you picked out that line.
Joan, that is such a nice thing to say. Thank you, sincerely.
rita, I am happy that you've been touched. I hope they are touched as well.
Kim, thanks. Nothing more: thanks.
Moose, thank you. I do. He died way before his time.
froggy, what a lovely thing to say. Thanks so much. And the day with the kids is the subject of the NEXT post...
trilogy - like Jackie Gleason? Sorry, couldn't resist. Still, I keep in mind an obit, years ago, about the son of A.A.Milne. Milne was apparently better at writing about Christopher Robin, than at being a father to him. I try to be careful.
Thanks everyone. And I have just posted the REAL post for the day. I hope to see everyone over there.