A Karen Blixen
This photograph of you, from golden years
on Daisy Close one sunny summer day,
still makes me smile, then splinter into tears.
You asked me to remember you the way
you were before you blossomed. Ever since
I met you in Assisi long ago,
you’ve been my rose, and I, the Little Prince,
would see a simple garden flower grow
into a Karen Blixen. Here’s the bed
where your sweet-scented, pure-white petals shone.
And even when an evil canker spread,
you bloomed again, undaunted. Now you’ve gone,
I sing for you, just like I’ve always done,
and catch you smiling as you catch the sun.
Duncan Gillies MacLaurin
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