My Poem

Every morning
you pick my poem 
from the stem 
like a flower
placing it in the crystal vase 
by the windowdo you think sunshine will help it to still grow?
or watching the rain behind the closed window is going to satisfy its thirst?for you
it is only good for a few hours 
perhaps a day or two 
till you toss it out to be buried in the gardenbut it is there
in the garden
out of your sight
that it becomes alive 
under the shade of that apple tree
where the red ink stains my fingers
it comes back to lifethere is no time to repent 
it already had molded my soil into the shape of a bird 
flying solo in the air
with no regret ......

AKA Darya