by Vickie McEntire
His Monday morning masterpiece
draws a refrain of sighs
from hummingbirds’ grateful song in
my backyard paradise.
Moonlit raindrops still on the ground.
Waves unseen cause a breeze.
Sleeping crickets make not a sound.
This is my day to seize.
Then sings my soul in perfect key.
Tears try to kiss my cheek
at the columbine symphony
swinging low at my feet.
When my time comes do not lament.
Nothing here did I lack.
With so much hope, my life was spent
a flower in a concrete crack.