Her gifts

Each spring I’d say, I love tulips, why can’t we have some?
and you’d say, They’re a lot of work. They need to be planted
in the fall and the bulbs dug up in the summer to rest.

And I’d relent, that was fair, you did all the gardening.
So when I came around the corner of the house
and saw them blooming there, I wept.
Look love, I thought, this is the first spring you’ve missed!

Thank you for reading Her gifts. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.

The photograph was copyright-free from the Internet. I thought I had taken photos of my darling’s tulips but can not, now, find them. More fool me. To see my photography blog, please visit the Book of Bokeh.


Poem and notes © John Etheridge; all rights reserved. The poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Work 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original written work found on this site unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed is © John Etheridge,  https://bookofpain.wordpress.com. The image is not licensed for use in any way without the expressed consent of its creator.


Filed under Poetry

4 responses to “Her gifts

  1. Pete Hulme

    Truly beautiful though intensely sad. As Dylan expressed it, ‘Behind every beautiful thing, there’s been some kind of pain.’ Good to see you back. Love and prayers, Pete

    • Pete, Allah’u’Abha!

      Thank you! It’s been a long winter and a slow spring. But I am going to try and be more attentive to my poetry!

  2. So true..some leave behind a trail of cherished memories n emotions.. it can be hard to let go sometimes.. please take care.. Love never dies!