Playing Word Games

I sprinkle hints, seeds in the withering garden of your brain, hope words will sprout, blossom on your lips. But deep in the gray matter, atrophy spreads like a biblical pestilence. In that un-Eden, hummingbirds dart, like crazed syllables, scatter alphabets like fallen petals amid stems of thought — bare, but pretending to be bright. Colors for flowers, all I could expect.
Source: JAMA - Category: General Medicine Source Type: research