I live where his garden grows
I rise when his sun shines
I hop between the rows of rhyme
And flower like a rose

As I spread across his vine
Are gone these constant lows
My spirit smells of wine
My sorrow burrows where nobody knows

I place every syllable in a shrine
And watch my tears decompose
I lose all track of time
While I’m bandaging my woes

© Delia Ross. 2019