She sips her piping hot soup in gentle slurps
Lips touching the spoon precariously
The salty tang transports her to another time
A sombre smile dances on her mouth, so slight
Summer days lazy, lying in gold barley fields
Legs entwined, eyes locked, reading palms
Watching birds fly in crimson skies in single file
A strange order in the marvellous disorder of their lives
Winter embasan in that secret little rivulet
Fingers shrivelled, hair knotty and wet
Weightless and numb in the freezing cold
Heart volitant in wholesome unassuming love
Phlegm catches in her throat
Her wrinkled hands shield her cough
Eighty eight and counting, the body’s taking it hard
Mind still as sharp as a needle, but soon to waste away
In this dull, sterile place: a “home for the aged”
May well be a sanatorium for the sick and deranged.
Where were we, oh yes, this ghastly soup
Just like the one she made her blue-eyed boy too!
He who chased her through barley fields and secret rivulets
Now follows in his wheelchair, as she takes small baby steps
She chuckles at the memory, heeding reality’s call:
Oh the great irony and sheer luck of it all!
This has been a response to Wordle #76 by Mind Love Misery’s Menagerie. The rules were as follows:
Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem
The words can appear in an alternate form
Use the words in any order that you like.
5. Volitant (
7. Embasan (to wear clothes while taking a bath)
9. Sanatorium (
11. Sombre (it is just the British spelling of somber use whichever form you prefer)