This will sound like I'm fishing; however, I hope my explanation is accepted in the spirit in which it's intended: Tomorrow is my birthday. I didn't intend the CFS/Lilacs poem to trigger any self-indulgence, but I think perhaps because I'm in one of those frustrating "another year gone and so much I didn't get gone" moods, it's led to this baring my soul, if you will....
I'm a widow; that was my second marriage. My first marriage ended in divorce. I don't write that much poetry. I have found that the few poems that I've chosen to keep that I wrote during my first marriage and during the divorce are now almost a metaphor for the realities of dealing with CFS. The poem below is one that I hope will be a part of a collection of my essays and poems I'd like to publish someday. Growies are what we called "wild daisies."
Gathering Growies on Vespers Hill
by Pamela Rice Hahn
I wonder perhaps if I ever will
gather growies again on Vespers Hill.
Paths on a hillside where
the daisies grew wild,
Sunshine seemed warmer then,
Was I but a child
to trust that life could be
what we wish for?
I gave you all of me,
You wanted more.
Changes weren't in our plans,
I wanted to stay
safe on a hillside with
a growie bouquet.
With heaven as close as
just touching the sky
and when seemed so much more
important than why.
Dreams were so easy then.
We lived for someday.
We thought our future but
a whisper away.
I wonder perhaps if I ever will
gather growies again on Vespers Hill.
Copyright ©1974-2003 Pamela Rice Hahn
All Rights Reserved
Note re the illustration: I wish I could credit the original artwork, but it started as an image I saved at one point from another source that I didn't note. I "color" on the computer sometimes, so what's seen now is my "coloring" that includes additional blues so that I'd have blue roses, etc.