She said she didn’t feel good.
They said what else is new.
She said this time it’s different.
They said we’ve heard that too.

She said I think I’m dying
They said give us a break.
She said I’m even crying
They said those tears are fake.

She said I think you’ll miss me.
They said you haven’t gone.
She said it’s getting darker.
They said don’t carry on.

She closed her eyes in silence.
They said come on let’s go.
Her form grew cold and rigid
At last they had to know.

She wasn’t just pretending.
The thing she fought was real.
Her story had no ending.
And her life book they could seal.

They said we’ve been so stupid.
Uncaring and unkind.
She tried and tried to show us
But we were just too blind.

And now she’s gone forever.
Who’s going to run this place.
They don’t know which they’ll miss more-
Her efforts or her face.
ljm

Where the sunlight splashes through
The barely moving branches of the Magnolia tree
It makes a fascinating pattern on the patio.
Amy Lowell wrote of patterns in a lovely, angry verse
When she was writing about how she hated war.

I bend to trace the patterns with my toe
And focus on the possibilities of now
With monster canons rolling down the boulevards
And goose-step imitators marching by
While in the stands a devilishly evil Buddha smiles.

A zephyr gently stirs the leaves
And all the patterns rearrange again
I look at them with half closed eyes
And I can’t find the symmetry
That I saw just an hour ago.

The Kraken still is held by chains
And though he gushes fire and venom
The patterns on the wall contain him
As he thrashes to replace the sun
With a new one of his own creation.

Amy walked a peaceful garden path
In dappled sunlight long ago
Creating lines that live today.
I trundle down a brick-lined walk
And hope that I will have tomorrow.
                         ljm