PEACH TIME

In peach time while we talk

of poison ivy and flowers

in the garden, or feed the brown

drake in the pond, our breath

wings away and everything else

is on the other side of us

over there

somewhere.

And when our clay turns

to ashes, inside this particular

collection of four o’clocks, roses,

and water, our spirits will be here

laughing in the dirt we dug

for them.

Reviews

[Lorry]

We all go the same way Vol, but it isn't all about why we love places so much, it's also because those places loved us, which is also why these places instantly feel like home and it can even be a bigger wrench leaving those places than our own inevitable demise.
When my time comes, the people here no what to do and where to scatter my ashes, if they aren't allowed to do it in Donald Trump's face
Not for me the scenic hills and fields, nor hiking trails. I want to be of use, so my last wish will be for my ashes to be scattered on the roads at the first sight of winters chill coming. Maybe that way the next speedster racing through will not be in such a rush to join me, when his tyres find a fraction of grip that will make his deathwish a date further into a future he doesn't deserve.
And it will be a man and I don't care how unwoke that sounds! ☺

[Vol]

Lorry,
After twenty years with Kimberly making a garden out of our Tennessee hillside, It isn't the place, but the things WE did there, building terraces, enriching the soil, the bird feeders, the bird baths, the stones I hauled from the fields, the pond, the goldfish and Koi... the working together under her direction made it possible to make love plein air out there under the butterflies on the Mimosa, Hapoy days, indeed!
Vol

[Lorry]

Totally agree Vol. It always is those touches that would have went untouched that make things a home.
We leave our mark on them, just as much as they leave their mark om us.

[Chris Shaw]

A special place. A private place of contentment and togetherness which
you shared. I relate to this poem because we have places too which are dear to us. Even after we are gone they will remain. Beautiful poem Vol, gives me a peaceful feeling that life goes on.

Chris

[Poetic Beauty]

We leave part of our essence behind in the places we loved the most and that gave us comfort or laughter.

[Vol]

PB,
And carrry them with us when we leave and can never return,
Vol

[Poetic Beauty]

That is true as well.