Together on the clipped lawn,
nestled in their cages,
I grew them from tender seedlings
and bragged about my crop
cheek to cheek on their blossoms
I nurtured them for weeks
but did not see the cancer bloom
black beneath the blush–
my well-meaning watering
had rot them from inside
and they drank until they split
and died on the vine.
– TERESA KIPLINGER
See how I incorporate my poetry into my jewelry work here.
photo by zanda photography