She said there were so many "hers",
She wasn't quite sure who she was,
Then asked him if the wind blew hard
On who he loved, wheree'r he was,
And he said, "Yes, my friend. The wind
Finds all of us, though we might hide,
And blows the leaves off where we've sinned,
And leaves bare what we'd keep inside."
There was a silence then of keys;
She knew the rest, so didn't ask.
A season lost of friendship sought
And summer sun in which to bask.
Yes, now, a colder truth blew in
The empty castles of pretend --
A winter now, with her own thoughts,
And no more plays with
Married men
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Tagged: Tags Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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