Supplanting
The dying light of the late summer sun weakens,
I watch him gently move you so that
The fading rays would warm your greying skin.
I struggle to hold myself tall, as you
Painfully droop
Your head to the willing support of his embracing arm.
The ivy took hold this year,
Invading every brick cell of the house,
Dad struggling to cut it out.
The flowers bloomed late this year,
Blurring the boundaries of summer’s end
And autumn’s empowerment.
Winter is creeping up on us,
Approaching silently.
Soon all the flowers will have withered.
Against this landscape of dying I stand
Blooming with my own nurtured seedling
And I wait for the spring.
Page(s) 130
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