The Last Photograph

  • SKM_4750170618110600-2

©donnaesgro

 

He lies in the fading sun

in his beloved backyard

my father lies dying

In a tarnished frame

on the mantle

my father lies

in a frozen November

perennially dying

How hard the shadows fall

in my father’s garden

Where once I played

under blooming bushes

petals wet with dew

and bright as blood

How still he lies

his silvery hair tousled

his keen eyes closed

against the last glare

So distant, so cold

behind the glass

beyond complaint

in his little corner of borrowed light

 

donna burke esgro

6/18/17

 

 

 

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