Flowers— they bloom a day, then to our graves. Wilted, these flowers; still fervent, the bees at Mother’s grave. We crowded in— sons, sons-in-law, grandsons— to carry her here. I am orphaned, though a man—dead: Father, now Mother. In this verdant valley they had farmed, we buried them. Winds—into the …
Tag: M. Shayne Bell
Haiku
By M. Shayne Bell Fasting for the sick . . . there is no end to talk of the honeydew. White tulips in moonlight . . . bringing water to angels unawares. Checking fences . . . the dog and I walk in green pastures.
A Hungry Kitten, Stray: Poetry
By M. Shayne Bell A hungry kitten, stray, two weeks before Christmas: the inn has room.