Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2016
My plant is dying.
Her long chlorophyll-filled leaves
drooping, sagging, lacking.

The sun barely shines on her anymore
as the shadows claim her
in the corner of my windowsill.
The only window in my tiny room
and it receives the least amount of light
due to the angles of the sun—
an inhibitor of her vegetative maturation.
As it is there’s hardly any daylight
left to give.

Winter is drawing near, and I should
learn to close my window
so the cold can't creep in—
but I open it anyway,
afraid to let go of any residual summer
that might still litter the increasingly frigid air.
Where did the time go?

The cold doesn't agree with her,
despite being a succulent—supposedly hard to ****—
so I trim the broken, withered limbs,
break them off so the plant can breathe again.
The now bare stem looks lonely.
So I water the dry dirt in hopes that
she’ll grow once more.
Devon Haley
Written by
Devon Haley  22/F/New Jersey, USA
(22/F/New Jersey, USA)   
  658
       ---, Jonathan Witte, ryn, ---, Allan Frei and 6 others
Please log in to view and add comments on poems