seed packets
waiting to be scattered
hard frost
© Rachel Green February 2025
Did my father ever feel as I do now
where mother Time has crept her icy claws
into my skin and bones, turned hair to snow
and turned to feeble bleats my youthful roars?
For still I feel inside as I did then
when winter's frost was many years away
The age without is just a mirror's ken
Adopted children grown and fled the coop
in turn to have some children of their own
remembering in daydreams of their youth
that I had done my best to see them grown
and strive to grow in them a brighter truth.
And still I seek some justice in my life
once a husband, I am contented wife.
© Rachel Green February 2025
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