My father knows when
the crocuses are out
And when the snowdrops
and when the bluebells
and how to listen, carefully,
to the nesting birds
trilling,
between our rooms.
Daisies will come
and roses will grow
and perhaps we shall walk
and reminisce about the snow
and kick up some leaves
and weave up some dreams
while the world passes by
my father and I.
© Shaista Tayabali
(Dverse Poets Open Link)
Dad fell hard on the concrete pavement outside our house, broke his femur and had surgery a few weeks ago. His road to recovery is long, challenging and filled with his extraordinary light.
the crocuses are out
And when the snowdrops
and when the bluebells
and how to listen, carefully,
to the nesting birds
trilling,
between our rooms.
Daisies will come
and roses will grow
and perhaps we shall walk
and reminisce about the snow
and kick up some leaves
and weave up some dreams
while the world passes by
my father and I.
© Shaista Tayabali
(Dverse Poets Open Link)
Dad fell hard on the concrete pavement outside our house, broke his femur and had surgery a few weeks ago. His road to recovery is long, challenging and filled with his extraordinary light.
