Meditation in the Park

In December I got
a dozen Welsh Lovespoons
from Dylan Thomas's Laugharne
they had  hearts, they had commas,
and they had Celtic knots,
and when dawn came soon
leaving the Ottawa's moon
awaking, stretching
and yawning over me
with winter's mist still in the air
I went out in a black padded coat
so that no one could see
me and I planted them in the dark
in the snow around a tree
in the east-end's Strathcona Park.
When autumn comes raging
in dappled golds and reds
there will be a tree with pods
of Welsh Lovespoons hanging
like an umbrella to shade her
when she sits under it on a Sunday
to meditate with eyes gently closed.
And if I happen to pass by that day
I will stop and drink her name
from the park's water fountain
which I will admit is a lame
excuse to quench my thirst to see
her serene smile.

© Asoka Weerasinghe