The house is inviting and painful;
She left remnants behind.
A glove in the grass
Blackened by earth.
The plumbago lift their arms
As she trims beneath them;
Gusting wind; a floral scent;
The door draws them in.
Nails click on less-kept tile;
Little One searching room to room;
Halts and cocks an ear.
But keyboard is silent;
Both blessing and curse;
Assured her presence;
I tossed and turned.
What time is it?
This night and life;
Endless and brief.

Poem by Carol Fullerton-Samsel
Revised image by ds_30 at Pixabay

Published by cafsamsel

Carol Fullerton-Samsel is a nearly-native Floridian who lives with her husband of 25 years and three rescue animals. She has a passion for day-hiking and nature, and also enjoys writing. Be sure to visit the TenPaths YouTube channel, which is still in its infancy.

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