Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2024
I step down to glean
the petals in the pond, that softly stir
when the muse plucks her instrument;
they have been blooming an eternity here,
in this cave. She has brought them up on this music,
and my tear fractures the ripples
when I hear the song;
I cry.
her music is a vestige of some older, wilder world
Grace
Written by
Grace  F/Voie Des Papillons
(F/Voie Des Papillons)   
41
       Coleen Mzarriz, guy scutellaro and matt r
Please log in to view and add comments on poems