Originally posted on Awakened Words:
She kept the sugar water full.
Each day checking the level
of liquid in the feeder.
The ghost waited each day
beneath the tree, each moment
in her presence a treasure.
A day, more or less, is not so much
when waiting for ones love to return.
But, the dead measure time by the
slow motion beat of hummingbird wings.
Each day an eternity awaiting
precious moments of bliss.