Pagosa Springs Artists

Bridal Wreath

Once, bridal wreath shrubbery

surrounded our back yard, grew

higher than us kids in the days

when we used to burrow a cave

under its plethora of dry twigs

filled with white flowerheads,

lending miniature bouquets

to decorate the place we buried

dead pets.


But those bushes are gone today

when I revisit the old home place

after forty years away.


first published in Illinois State Poetry Society 

©2018 Bonnie Manion


Poem of the Month

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