I watch a frangipani blossom -- its elegant five twisted petals swept downstream, drifting toward the smooth laminar lip that rolls over the cascade. And I feel a teensy queasy, watching it be lifted and whipped over the edge. As if I were it, and it were me.
This entry was posted in Free Verse, nature, Photos, pictures, poem, Poetry and tagged Empathy, Frangipani, Free Verse, poem, poetry, Vers Libre by B Gourley. Bookmark the permalink.
