The Offering.

She asked for one flower from my garden,
A single rose to be placed as a prayer
On the family shrine in her suburban home.

I do not know who this woman is,
An Indian lady small as an infant,
Her old skin wrinkled as an autumn leaf,

But when she asked her face was a picture of happiness,
So I allowed her to pick my favourite rose,
The yellow blossom transparent in sunlight.

It was no great kindness for me to do this,
The flowers in my garden are for my neighbours to look at,
A gift of colour these October days.

But because she smiled I allowed her to pick that one blossom,
And take it home into her private world.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter,
October 4th. 2019.