~

in drops and drips
her palette tips,
a mem'ry full of
kaleidoscope tricks
its tumbling skips;
this is morning glory
at their best.
once at attention
she stands now
at color-filled rest,
unfurling her glory,
tell her your story;
she’ll drink in your weeping
sharing with others
in manifold colors
all of these losses,
your sorrowful world,
spreading her palette of tears,
colors a'running astray.
those tears can't really
be wiped away;
there's more where
that came from, dear...
a boat load of color
to drown in and smother;
beauty-filled dripping,
til finally the
balance is tipping
the other way;
and for just a bit
there as she sits
the river that ran
in colorful brilliance
is dried up,
and *******,
and only then is she
able to stand up
another day.
she is mourning glory!
still here on earth,
her feet firmly planted,
but awaiting the end
of her color-filled story,
and wondering...
will she ever
again
find that treasure
she once held so close,
this side of heaven?
she may have to settle
to weep with the flowers;
passing her hours,
one sunset closer
to her forever;
her bouquet of scent
drifts away... spent,
one flower fading
slowly is trading
at color-filled dusk;
she’s mourning glory,
her colors returning
to dust.

~

*post script.

this, these lines, are not quite as they started out,
not what i thought it was meant to be...
but then life... it never is, is it?

"with hope" by Steven Curtis Chapman:  
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=OfQ4TlYh3ik