We played joyfully together last spring creating abundant rhymes and verses.
Haiku happily graced the page.
Even a lonely limerick found a home.
Now bereft, I pluck pitifully at a tuneless lyre.
Perhaps it is the glory of the garden that has stolen her away.
What words compare to the luscious frills of peony petals, the palette of thrusting lupin spikes, the purple, yellow-bearded irises in proud majestic rows?
I am defeated by an ode to oxalis, with its
tangy, trefoil leaves.
Delicate daisies rampant in the lawn, defy
description and wild strawberries creep silently underfoot.
Will my muse be tempted by the fragrance of
mixed herbs; mint, rosemary, basil, lemon balm?
Is she loitering on a lofty treetop distracted
by the blue jays' chatter and the persistent pecking of the woodpecker?
Dear muse, don't judge me while you languish
out of sight leaving me awash in adjectives, free to mangle metaphors and
clutch at cliches.
I won't let your absence lead to despair.
In time you will return to guide me.
For now, I sit
quietly on this rock beside my stone inuksuk that keeps watch at the water’s
edge.
No need to hurry. I have company with the
lush birth of greening growth around me; the miracle of a world reborn after
winter's sleep.
And when you return, I'll be here, waiting.
First Prize Winner- Poetry in the Scugog Council for the Arts Ekphrastic Literary Contest 2021
