By Eric Nicholson
In the garden
daffodils wilt; blossom falls.
Some may see today
endlessly repeating
like a wind-up toy, while
what may seem hum drum,
the hum of the fridge,
a ticking clock,
the science fiction silence outside,
is the world renewing itself
in each dying moment.
And we too, while honouring
the bitter taste of each
remembered mistake
can fall apart again and again.
Eric is a published poet and he won First Prize last year in the Opossum poetry competition.
I’m retired and live on my own so Covid Lockdown has given me the opportunity to paint and write more than usual. I’ve found the time beneficial and found solace in nature which I know lots of people have.