All that colour, perhaps it's green Memories of a me I once was Maybe I can't remember. Those small things, are they petals? But they're green, so no, something else Leaves me confused About where I am,
What is this place? And what lies between me and there? I see nothing, only someone's reflection. Is that me? I raise my hand, something solid Stops me knowing I'm not seeing the wood for the trees.
Juliet Wilson is a short sighted adult education tutor and conservation volunteer based in Edinburgh, Scotland. She blogs at http://craftygreenpoet.blogspot.com and can be found on Twitter @craftygreenpoet. She has had cataract surgery on her right eye.