The Winds That Blew

     I am actually working on a humorous blog entry, but it is not quite ready yet. And this poem, which has been forming in my mind for a few weeks, finally girded itself with words today. It is another poem expressing my grief over losing my granddaughter. It is probably not the last, but perhaps they will be less frequent than they are now. If God gave me poetry as a coping mechanism, I must use His gift as, and when, He chooses.

 The Winds That Blew

In later April, nearly May

I watched the petals blow away

from bushes where the berries grow

that feed the birds through winter’s snow.

A cool wind stole the tiny blooms.

It made me think of you, my child,

torn from my arms by tempests wild

between your mother and my son.

My time as your grandma is done

I tell my heart, but love won’t hear.

You, my grandchild, fed my soul,

warmed it against the coming cold.

Fresh as a blossom in my hand,

I hope that you can understand

I did not choose to leave you.

I could not stop the winds that blew,

the storm that parted me from you.

My plans for all the years ahead

are scattered like the petals shed

when spring blows cold as winter.