My dear Kara, childhood friend, soulmate and delight of my heart,
I just wrote you a poem for your birthday, and if that's not enough
here are two of your nieces, including your godchild, offering you
a perfect daffodil, plucked in early spring in your honor.
Cleveland Pear on an April Evening
Tonight we stopped the car,
opened the windows, drew in breath
at the world of white lace
cut through by ebony bark.
With the windows down
it was all as real as we'd hoped.
and one more. . .
6 comments:
Happy Birthday to your Dear friend!
I have only three people from my childhood that I still stay in touch with.
Two of them have been dear friends since we were 10 years old.
Pure Gold!
And you poor Uncle is befuddled, more so than usual.
It's getting hard to tell which girl is Merry, and which Elspeth. Pretty soon you can add Bea to the list.
The poor boys will be tricked a lot, I think!
aww shucks - thanks. it was a special day. sweet girls. beautiful daffodils. i love the poem. thank you, dear friend. love you.
Haiku for the day:
The burning oranges
Bleed a ripe citrus perfume
From the flaming tree
Sarah,
I don't know whether I want to experience the ripe citrus perfume--it's a very complex image in the context of burning, flaming, and bleeding. It sounds like something I'd rather avoid, something painful, which is intesting because "citrus perfume" is something I'd spray all over my body in a minute. but not the stuff from the bleeding oranges.
How fun is this, writing poems every day. As Merry says, I'm pumped.
Uncle,
I get the girls mixed up, too. I go through various names sometimes until I hit the jackpot. I'm sure it will just get worse, if my mother's long list of names for me when I was growing up is any indication--always including your wife's name, by the way. . .
My Dad would ask me "How old are you, boy?"
I thought he was kidding until I got older.
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