Wild Geraniums
Chill of May
sweeps through soft seas
of wild geraniums
here in deep woods,
their lavender-pink heads
moving slightly
in waves of thick green,
a scene soon to disappear
as seasons move
to seasons,
reminder of endings
and beginnings.
This poem is my tribute to a family member, age 22, and all the others who fell victim to the pain-killer Oxycontin. They were productive citizens hoping to contribute to society and were fooled by a medical treatment.