A morning not unlike before; except, that March day, I chose to sit
And in the sun clothe soul and mind amid the warmth before it quit.
My child was safe in school that day, her father having left for work;
So few quiet moments came those years wherein I enjoyed a welcome quirk.
From time to time, I glanced to see the seeds I’d sown before the spring.
Now, poppies ‘gainst the fence did bloom; their grey-green leaves held bright orange bling!
Returning to my book, I reread a line or two, but growing satisfaction brought me ‘round
Back to the poppies’ brilliant hue! Ah…my eyes drank in each colored mound.
The news was brief; enough to break my solitary, peace-filled morn.
Our president had been shot. Again, a sordid mind our country torn.
More details came to further invade my peaceful place; in seconds, my repose fled.
Instead, the poppies ‘gainst the fence foretold to me a poignant dread.
I blinked back tears…please, please let me hold the morning’s warmth still cross my feet!
Beneath my chair the soaked-in sun released its ebbing, remnant heat.
Seasons passed. Our leader lived. The Cold War ended in mere peaceful pretense.
My daughter grown, I’d moved on too. I left those poppies ‘gainst the fence.
Another yard, a new bedding plan; again a chance to sow and till,
Leaving history’s sadder days behind so new buds might stave off current ills.
Today, I seek comforting bling. My heart cries for its familiar sense!
Elusive still but, now and then, repose returns from seeded poppies ‘gainst the fence.
TRIBUTE – 100th Anniversary Year of Ronald Reagan’s Birth.