A Receptacle for Rain

framepool stock footage

If I am a vase,

I am a chipped one,

thrown off a back porch, 

lying on my side, 

without apparent function,

in the tall weedy grass.

There is a bit of scum in the bottom

from my glory years,

when I was filled with extravagant blossoms.

I did not know that would not last.

Vases lose their sheen after a century

of  containing all they must contain,

of holding on until they must let go.

The blooms go on 

to do their living elsewhere.

But an ambling dog came along

and nosed me upright,

sniffed within and,

finding nothing edible, moved on.

Now I can see the sky.

I am receptacle for rain

and moonlight,

filled with fatigue,

and a great, lasting peace.

for  Artistic Interpretations with Margaret: Vases, over at Real Toads.