Going on two years ago I started to notice the work of a poet on Hub pages. He went by the intriguing and distinctive name of Epigramman, and was an exhausting if fascinating writer to follow.
Here are the Pink Carnations. I was staying at a convent at London, Ontario, and the nuns gave me a beautiful vase for them.
As Epi promised, they looked just as fresh and beautiful after five days, as when he gave them to me.
I was able to give them to an elderly, sweet nun to enjoy in her room.
Pink Carnations (dedicated to Vicki)
has made me nervous
I must admit.
My gentleman is a bit late
as I continue
to sit.
Oh there he is
with an aroma
so sweet
in this circle
which lovers
strive to complete.
His soft voice
caresses the strings
of love's violin.
Oh how I have waited
this long
for my heart to win.
Infinite beauty is elusive
to those
outside the light
and yet in my imagination
I yearn
for such a sight.
So I take
his humble offering
into my hand.
It's a feeling
I've never had
you must understand.
My bittersweet tears
are not
character flaws
as I ease
this doubting man
in dramatic pause.
I've led a sheltered life
where shadows
dwell.
If this is heaven with you
then I've also lived
through hell.
They say love
is another dimension
that can let you see
but from my handicap
will I ever
be free?
I can only imagine
the origin
of the creative spark
although the same God
has left me
in the dark
as this color of pink
has never crossed
my mind.
For the young lady
in question
is totally blind.