Sara Orange Tip Was Here
By Silver Spun Sand
Sun, 14 Apr 2013
- 2129 reads
15 comments
'Please, make me beautiful,' she said,
one soft-shuttered morning, from a cushion
on a chair by my bed.
How could I not, I mused? The light
from an ice-cream sundae dawn
shining right through her;
easier, by far, to straighten a rainbow,
to bring peace to the Gaza Strip,
to convince bees they don’t like honey...
Not make her lovely? I wouldn’t
even if I could. She whose name, alone,
is poetry...
as, with one stutter of her wings,
she is gone, through an open window,
‘high flying...adored’
and all that remains – a scrap
of crumpled paper in my pocket, says,
‘Sara Orange-Tip was here’.
There are certain things, certain meanings –
lost forever, when explained away
with words.
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Comments
I don't understand who Sara
Permalink Submitted by The Walrus on
I don't understand who Sara orange-Tip is, Tina, but it's a lovely piece anyway.
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Nicely done silver.
Nicely done silver. Ice-cream sundae dawn sounds lovely.
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I recognize the flutterby
Permalink Submitted by The Walrus on
I recognize the flutterby now.
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what a magically enchanting
what a magically enchanting poem, Tina :) - alvin
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This is a scented poem - it
Permalink Submitted by Jane Hyphen on
This is a scented poem - it smells lovely.
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Hi Tina, Sara Orange Tip,
Permalink Submitted by skinner_jennifer on
Hi Tina,
Sara Orange Tip, what an amazing name.
Such a beautiful poem, to celebrate this butterfly.
Simply lovely.
Jenny.
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