It is early
Mid-Spring
The lavender we hung
Dries little by little
Nearby are the wind chimes
Their sound mixes in
With the song of the Robin
Who forages with little hops
And that of the glacial water
Falling from the ancient Venetian fountain
That we found together
It seems centuries ago
The bold-colored cobalt hyacinths
That we planted
Come back each year
Welcoming with a beautiful fragrance
We used to stare up in reverie
At the blue powder sky
I held your hand while you fell asleep
Never counting the minutes
I remember how you liked to cull fruit
From the big cherry tree
Placing it in a wicker basket that had a hole in it
(You had patched it up with a needle and white thread)
In the shadow of this tree
The marble bench is still where we left it
An eternal weathered sentinel
I wait for you
--Nick M., Adult