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Thursday, 20 August 2009

Elegy to Another Barbara

By Barbara Fifield

Our names are the same
I thought he'd mix us up
Calling you, I would come.
I hated having a rival
for jazz and racquetball
for operas and martinis.

I'll plant chrysanthemums
to mourn you
You were only 36. Younger than I.
Death shriveled your buds
before they could bloom
Spring I'll wear orange blossoms
for us
And no one will remember why.

[EDITORIAL NOTE: All elders, 50 and older, are welcome to submit stories for this blog. They can be fiction, non-fiction, poetry, memoir, etc. Instructions for submitting are here.]

Posted by Ronni Bennett at 02:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post


Beautiful and so very moving.

Thank you so much for these touching words.

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