If truth be told, my quiet life today
Is not so varied from before
Spending each precious day with my dog
Writing lyrical poems, the occasional sound
Of my own voice reading the words to him
Does he understand my meaning?
I take a stroll in the garden, pausing
To bury my nose in a fragrant rose
And pull the occasional wayward weed
Wishing my mother were here to see
The beauty only passing years can bring
Is she here but on another plane?
Sometimes, haunting music plays
As I reminisce with french melodies
Reliving the times of our Paris days
And the supreme bliss we felt
Which vanishes now in today’s haze
Of cloudy uncertainty
With all this death and unrest,
There is an underlying change
For now I spend most of my days
Questioning and thinking about everything
What have we humans gone and done?
What was the tipping point when it all changed?
Can our future and that of earth be re-arranged?
Will we be here this time next year to see another spring?
I have no answers for each nagging question only brings
Me back to this existence which on the surface hasn’t changed
What does it all mean?
©2020 Linda Lee Lyberg
Imaginary Garden with Real Toads: Day 3 Existentialism