My Life To Give

pink and yellow flower buds
the Cameraslinger at Unsplash

I am the bud and the blossom, I am the late-falling leaf

I am always there for you, both in joy and in grief

For you are my existence, my reason to live

And all that I ask,

Is that you allow me to you

My life to give


Padre

Written for dVerse Beyond Meaning or The Resolution of Opposites. Prompt from Paul Dunbar’s The Paradox

Trousers

Jeans, Pants, Blue Jeans, Textiles
Pixabay

These are not trousers

A thing to merely wear

They are the expression of love

Of deep concern and care

I did not see the need for them

They were not a thing requested

But they were bought for me all the same

That I would not be neglected

Oh what a gift of foresight

As other garments met their fate

As I took them from my drawer

Memories they did stir

Of how they were given on that day

As a token of love by her

These are not trousers

Something that I wore

These are the fabric of love

And oh – so much more


Padre

dVerse – Poetics: Object Poems

My late wife had the uncanny ability to take care of my material needs, even when I could not see them. This prompt allowed me to recall the day recently, when I was forced to retire some tried and true clothes, to find that I was not in need of going out to replace them, because she had purchased some of my favourite brands before her death. I told her at the time it wasn’t necessary, as I had plenty. Little did I know.

Comfort Never Puerile

Mother, Woman, People, Kid, Baby, Child, Hug, Love
Pixabay

The comfort

Of a loved one’s hugs

Is never a puerile thing –

Though a parent’s arms

May memories of childhood’s

Peace and tranquillity bring.

And a lover’s warm embrace

An adult world can help you –

Bravely face –

Moments united against all fears

Their cheek against your face


Padre

Prompt’s: Student’s word of the day – Puerile

Fandango’s FOWC with Fandango — Comfort

Have

Mama, Children, Dance, Fun, Family, Baby
Pixabay

They say there are the haves

And yet others that have yachts

Then there are the most of us

That are the have nots

But if that is the way we measure our net wealth

Aren’t we devaluing things like love and our good health?

Look at your children as they go about their play

Do they know you love them at the end of the day?

It isn’t about the computer screens,

Or the toys with which they play

It is hearing your encouragement,

And feeling the security within the home where they stay

It need not be a mansion, or stately manor vast

It just needs to be a loving home,

In which that love does last


Padre

(The) Devout of Africa

Wool, Cat'S Cradle, Hand Labor, Crochet, Fluffy

Pixabay

“I had some yarn in Africa”*

 

It is amazing what faith and determination can accomplish.

There are many, when misfortune befalls them, that will bemoan their lot and blame the world.  Others will turn to criminality or immorality to “make ends meet.”

This is not the story of one of those, but of a woman of faith.  Her’s was a faith in her God, herself, and in the principles of enterprise and thrift.

She had found herself in the situation of having to provide for her own needs, and those of her three children.  She had practical talents in arts and crafts, but little monetarily.  What she had – she invested; not in speculative ventures, but in real feet-on-the-ground practicality.  She knit, she crocheted, she fabricated slippers.  She above all believed in her principles.

She secured for herself a market place.  While only a stall on the pavement – it produced.  It produced income.  It produced an outlet for her creativity.  It produced an enduring example of what true character can achieve.

Through it all, her devotion remained strong.   Through her servant nature, her children were not only provided for, but believed themselves secure.  And secure they were in her love.

She had some yarn in Africa, but she wove more than mere crochet.

 

Padre

 

*With apologies to Meryl Streep

Where Are The Flowers?

Photo by Kristina Paukshtite on Pexels.com

Where has that rose-scent – heady gone?

Has it dried and blown away?

Leaving just the husks left behind –

Like from Miss Havisham’s wedding day?

Or have they been picked with bright intent –

And now with tears – gone far away?

Like the blooms of which Pete Seeger sang

On tombstones now displayed

Where has that rose-scent – heady gone?

May they fresh in your vase be found –

Each day with enduring and pure emotion

And may you with your loved one dwell

Roses a symbol of an undying devotion

 

 

 

Padre

 

Photo Challenge #323