Because I have let despair overtake me
in its dark hooded robe, spent too much time
with the news, the virus spreading, I have
forgotten to be grateful: to the sun,
reddening the east; to the grass, growing
greener every day. I have a house, a roof,
a bed. Food, at least for now.
If everything does come to an end, once I sat
in a garden in the south of France at twilight
with a glass of dark wine and someone who loved
me, celebrating my new book. I got to write books.
Once we hiked in a field of poppies that turned
the air every gradation of orange, while Painted
Lady butterflies drifted across our path riding
the warm wind. We had all those years together,
children and grandchildren, vacations by the sea.
This one life, a gift I forgot to treasure.
Forgive me. I am sorry. I wanted more.
~Barbara Crooker

poems online



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