When Last the Dogwood Blossomed . . .

Dogwood on the  Hill

Dogwood on the Hill

When last the dogwood blossomed on the hill,
the sun was bright that April kind of day.
The birds sang sweetly and the breeze was still.
My love promised: “I’ll never go away.”

Walking up the hill, I thought
how vows are sometimes broken.
Pinned to the tree, I found his note,
its only word: “Goodbye.”

I might find someone else and fall in love.
But I doubt that will ever be the case.
My heart turned cold that April afternoon
when last the dogwood blossomed on the hill.

Copyright 2013, Freeda Baker Nichols