Everyday we hear the statistics, the numbers. I don’t want to forget that every number is a person. An individual with life ahead of them. With loved ones. With hopes and dreams. This for them, the fallen. They should never just be a statistic.
As my roses started to wilt, I was reminded of a poem I wrote many years ago. I was newly diagnosed with the Crohn’s, and bit by bit, all my own hopes and dreams were stripped away from me. I survived though! I still have a life ahead of me and many loved ones. I have fought hard to live so they don’t have to grieve.
My sincere condolences to all the family and friends of those who have been taken by this dreadful virus.
A single rosebud, Dew dropped And heaven scented, Plucked by its stem As a gift presented. A tainted token, Its arteries broken, Uprooted and taken. To watch it now wilt, All that’s felt is guilt For natures treasures forsaken.
There’s a new star
In the sky tonight.
I’ve never found it so hard
To photograph, to write.
He is lost from this world now.
He burned so bright in life.
Suddenly he is gone
And I am lost.
It’s strange that today’s prompt should be LOST. It brought the tears welling up again. The last time I got my lighting out to photograph one of my Orchids, Pixel was trying to eat the plant nearly as fast as I could photograph. This is an empty house today yet filled with grief.