Flowers from my sister Martha's garden this past summer.
She's posted about a work in progress called, "Missing Angels"
here's another poem by John, again written just weeks before he passed, entitled, "Angels"
by John Fiore,
Would that we could
have kept that angel,
the one that sat on our shoulders
as we wobbled through that toddler age,
missing table corners and open drawers
by whiskers, angel fingers taking the hits
for our soft little baby heads.
We zigged and zagged, the road
a mine field, trouble at every turn,
and yet here we are.
But now, the angel is gone,
and I miss mine at every fork,
every misstepped road.