Sea All Colors
             [Hospice Prayer]
 

The hand in my hand is a drought
robbed creek once full to the brim.
Lesser droughts sapped, but you
fought them off.  Too many counted
on swimming in your sparkling, free-
flowing personality and gift for
giving.  Flowers  kept volunteering
to climb your banks.   How many  
did you feed before that devastating
dry spell hit this fall? The brilliant   
reds and kick-butt yellows against
cerulean you had such a passion for
quickly gave way to  browns that
fogged gray.   Now the hand  in
my hand is going still.  Creek's down
to mist-shrouded rock and shell.
Ruts that hard experience leaves.
I miss your sparkle,  luv.  Color!  
Have to remind myself that you are
heading for a place where crystal
pure water flows year-round.  Hope
diamond pale by comparison.  Every
body of every kind is, as you liked
to say,  fat and sassy.  Did I say
creek?  Ocean more like it.  One
that flows into the Great Sea.
 
Hand in my hand has fallen asleep.
Flow on, sweet friend, flow on.

    (c) Phyllis Jean Green,  2009