- Books, Literature, and Writing
Green Onions (Poem) - Revised
Spring arrived early, with a warm sunny breeze.
Caressing my face as I strolled
through the garden.
During its dawn, the wild bulbs rose.
Fresh and crisp, stems rooted deep in the
With one quick hack, they were in my hands.
Bright and green, the fresh smell of the Earth
filled my nostrils.
You smiled from the window and beckoned me in.
You washed and peeled, layer after layer,
sliced and diced, tossed and spiced, into
a colourful salad.
We sat by the window, watching
golden drops of dew. You squeezed my hand
and fed me like all grandmothers do.
Sunday noon was always special,
a spicy aroma clouding our senses,
we sat with steaming mugs of tea.
Laughter, banter, hopes and dreams.
forward another week, so we can
be together again to share life’s stories,
to cherish your wisdom.
But one Sunday I found you gone.
Hours turned into days, months became years.
I sat by the same window, but you never
Spring turned dark, my green onions turned
brown...and my tears flowed freely.