She sang hymns of praise,
appearing distant,
for which marvel she did not know
a Rowan or Wren
virtues of fortitude in an unsteady World.
Her eyes worn
had fallen upon this empty shell.
What seed corn do we grapple
a hoarse breath
and in her very own Garden of Eden.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 4:44 PM UTC
She sang hymns of praise,
appearing distant,
for which marvel she did not know
a Rowan or Wren
virtues of fortitude in an unsteady World.
Her eyes worn
had fallen upon this empty shell.
What seed corn do we grapple
a hoarse breath
and in her very own Garden of Eden.
Request permission to use this poem