Drying petals in my book: A poem 

You ask me whether I’m happy or sad 

I say I am both grieved and glad 

A tad low at the troubles I mop 

But proud that I bravely cop 

There’s some vinegar and some wine 

like a mix of flavours in my sip and dine 

Anxiety is not my favourite line  

I challenge the challenges of incline 

The force that drives me on the course 

is like a warhorse discovering a rose 

A voice is never hoarse if not morose 

Shadows don’t lurk before my toes 

I can tell you I am not shy 

to inhale the fragrance before the flowers die 

I can say that at each fleeting moment I look 

like magic petals drying in my book