it may be dreadful to be old but it’s worse not to be young ~E.E. Cummings (American poet, author, playwright), “Jottings,” in Wake, 1951
Lately, I’m seeing more and more mostly middle-aged people taking care of their aging parents.
In church. At restaurants. In grocery stores, medical facilities, parking lots.
I used to be one of those caregivers before Mom passed, but when you’re waist-deep in the weeds, it’s hard to notice how many others are in there with you.
Now it all comes rushing back.
I did nothing but comfort my plants, till now their small green cheeks are covered with smiles. ~Emily Dickinson, American poet
I confess you were an afterthought,
A spur-of-the-moment something I bought.
I found you nestled in a dahlia patch,
Your color stood out from the rest of the batch.
I asked the clerk which one she’d choose.
With no hesitation, she pointed to you.
“I think you’ll be pleased” is what she said,
So I put you in my cart without any dread.
I planted you where you’d get sun and shade;
Watered you, guarded you, and often prayed
That you’d be happy living here with me
And wouldn’t long for what wouldn’t be.
Just look at you now, healthy and lush!
Your colors are radiant, making me blush.
For my part in helping you thrive and grow,
I couldn’t be happier; my heart is aglow.
Note: Poetry form is rhyming couplets.
Musings by an ND Domer's Mom 