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The Tulips are Whispering…
It was cold last night.
An illusive dampness clung from the edge of winter.
Reminding me of the heartland of perspective, and change.
The first potted tulips of the season,
Lilting with what seemed to be a torpid perfection,
Against the backdrop of the evening’s dusk.
Casually, yet vulnerable,
For there was only the beginning
Of something to whisper about…
As winter still, had yet to shed her final song.
They reminded me of you,
And I…
Years beckoning,
Heartening against the windows
Of memory, and love.
For all seasons pass,
As tulips begin to whisper.
As coral begins to breathe,
As light begins to awaken
The stories that you once had hidden.
I wasn’t sure how to be,
As the poignancy of the light,
Gripped me with a fair enchantment.
Almost deceiving.
Almost.
But I knew better.
I knew that this remarkable
Tenderness….
Would follow me,
Through till morning.
As these whispers of tulips
Will line the satin etchings
Of my dreams,
And continue to
Remind me
That there might
Always remain melodies,
Unsung…
As the tulips whisper.
