I have been absolved from being me
Confusion
it seems
is in vogue
Constant craving?
Oh darling the look of the season
I am assured
Absolution granted for
resting
in the arms of uncertainty
Forgiven
Pardon
Paroled
Freed
Convergence of a dozen souls
under wrought iron and oak trees
One hundred and fifty years of history
watching
Ladies of the evening
in this garden square of red
Lend support to wearies
in need of respite
Blooming
flowering
canopied in rich earth
And
unconditional love
It is our secret garden
good things are grown
In haphazard
ram shackled fashion,
beauty grows best when
Left to run wild
at times.
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