the last of the impatiens

the remnants of the impatiens
stare blankly, if brightly,
right through me, as the sun
reminds us both of stories
of past glories, of sunrises met
with few worries,
way back then, way back
when life was buried treasure,
and not just a sunken measure,
with little left to play,
with little left to pray,
if praying helped plants
or people.

July 27, 2010, for the Wifey.

Copyright © Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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