Her Last Spring
She sat on the garden window ledge, elegant and erect as a Queen, as proud as a ship’s prow. If you had not known her pretty kitten-face as I had you would never guess her time was less than weeks. Spring, and the sun was warm on her soft coat of spices. I was glad of the warmth, that she could feel it, Though I could not believe it, I knew it would be soon. She was gone before the Paschal Moon was risen. I spent April in Cornwall, where spring was well underway and Padstow Bay was bathed in a bridge of rainbows. As gulls strung themselves across the sky like bunting I tried not to cry. ©June Palmer
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Author - June Palmer
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June 2020
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