age (4)

July 2, 2018 at 4:25 pm Leave a comment

age (4)

The roses stood
without my window, now
bare of bloom, yet leaved, pleading
to sky for deliverance
from the coming
fatal frost.
I would paint them, yes,
tomorrow…and tomorrow
grew away.
Frost come, leaves fallen
three bare
reproaching fingers
jut upwards.
Time is short
before remembrance,
too, ceases.

 

 

Entry filed under: Ancient Poetry, social psychology, voices. Tags: , .

The Missing Piece

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