The blind flower-seller

With the cane basket
and the white cane
She comes to the Sunday market
Sitting on the small bench
She sells different colors of flowers
Though she cannot see
By each fragrance of them
She knows the name and the pedigree too?
And I sniff a rare fragrance while passing
that comes from her hidden little-heart flower?

to my deceased poet friend Paddy Martin!

nimal dunuhinga

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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