Tag: fall from grace

Elegy by Linda Pastan 

Our final dogwood leans
over the forest floor

offering berries
to the birds, the squirrels.

It’s a relic
of the days when dogwoods

flourished–creamy lace in April,

spilled milk in May–

their beauty delicate
but commonplace.

When I took for granted
that the world would remain

as it was, and I
would remain with it.