The heaviest clouds are memories now,
and each thorn gives up its rain.
I dreamt I saw your shadow,
a flicker at the edge of the meadow.
Every step took me hours and hours,
and when I reached you you had gone.
In the trampled grass where the deer makes her bed,
a damp and budding bouquet: peony, lavender,
strawberry, thistle.
These are the flowers of my heart,
and in new sun they will bloom.
Written by: Kate Horowitz
2 comments:
Beautiful as usual!
Wow. I got my print from the conference and I. LOVE. IT. It is so much more beautiful in person. My sister always kids with me that I was born into the wrong family...I was the little artist-wannabe and nobody knew what to do with me. I want to hang out with you - maybe a little bit of your talent could rub off on me?
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