Paint peeling from the window sill
Long legged lady walking,
In such a way
All frail like a mouse without its tail
She wishes not that of a picket fence
But that of lattice.
So that each time she gazes out
Into her garden
She is reminded of bramble pie
Seeing her mothers eyes
Who’s spirit lies in oak
Samaras floating down into her hair
Twirling the whirligig between her fingers
Trailing with gentle fingers
The mid ribs of little sprites wings
Apr 27, 2025
Apr 27, 2025 at 1:08 PM UTC
Paint peeling from the window sill
Long legged lady walking,
In such a way
All frail like a mouse without its tail
She wishes not that of a picket fence
But that of lattice.
So that each time she gazes out
Into her garden
She is reminded of bramble pie
Seeing her mothers eyes
Who’s spirit lies in oak
Samaras floating down into her hair
Twirling the whirligig between her fingers
Trailing with gentle fingers
The mid ribs of little sprites wings
It has been three whole years since I have last written a poem on here. I managed to finally access my account. And I am so happy to be able to upload my poems again.
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