08 Sep

And she, who once was,
as innocence beguiled,
so like a velvet rose,
blossomed from youth,
left to strain at sunlight,
if only for her comfort,
and rise to morning dew,
if but to quench her thirst.

But, e’en the velvet rose,
as wide in beauty as art,
could not hold her form,
nor still her trembling,
as she was, in life, moved,
so, too, in death, restless,
and with her spirit freed,
now travels o’er ocean blue.

And in the sky, a sunset,
left to paint her last breath,
‘ere angels hold her name,
with reverence, in memory,
and stars are wanton still,
that they have shone on her,
now wan of her velvet touch,
the reach of her gentle mind.

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Posted by on September 8, 2016 in My Poetry



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