As she traced a path
in the palm of her hand
she felt sad for forgotten
things
lost hearts, lockets
and misplaced gloves
left like dying moths
in light too rare to remember.
She picked up
where she left off
and went - with blessing -
into white winter streets
step upon step
soon forgotten.
Jan 2, 2011
Jan 2, 2011 at 7:32 AM UTC
As she traced a path
in the palm of her hand
she felt sad for forgotten
things
lost hearts, lockets
and misplaced gloves
left like dying moths
in light too rare to remember.
She picked up
where she left off
and went - with blessing -
into white winter streets
step upon step
soon forgotten.