Source: Wikimedia Commons
the trees shed their leaves
a snake sheds its worn-out skin
i shed the old me
About the Creator
Virginia Kruta
Daughter of the Revolution. Third generation Army veteran. Scot, according to genetics — American by the grace of God.
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More stories from Virginia Kruta and writers in Poets and other communities.
War and Roses
The package arrived on a Tuesday. Knowing that I preferred watching the real world over daytime television, one of the nurse’s aides had been kind enough to push my wheelchair as close as he could to the broad front window. I read his name tag carefully — Jackson, it read — and thanked him, but we both knew that by dinner I would forget it. It was a dance we did every day, my failing mind and I.
By Virginia Kruta5 years ago in Serve
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