It is an iridescent dragon fly purple and blue
It so cleverly hovers over the pond of your brow
It is an agile flyer and can be high or low, come and go
It has life expectancy of a week or so…
This is how I see traces of sorrow
A vivid an electric color, impossible to miss
An aviator like no other, comes from anywhere
This trace may be brief, a week or so…
or maybe no one knows…
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She remembers the smell of the pink flowers on the bushes growing along the footpath that winds down the hill to the Church. She remembers the colors of the huge domed roofed fifties cars, one in each driveway that were the size of army tank. When she would stand up on the front seat she never once thought her Daddy’s arm could not save her if they crashed. The thought never entered her young mind…child like Faith.
Jill Autrey Dorman 