In the mornings now
I walk through the garden of my tears
Harboring secret thoughts
Of your return
As I wipe dust off
The fragmented flowers
Residing there.
During those times
Oft sighted
The smallest wren sits
Atop a silvered rose
Warbling tunefully in my ear
Reminding me of songs left unsung.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 2:54 PM UTC
In the mornings now
I walk through the garden of my tears
Harboring secret thoughts
Of your return
As I wipe dust off
The fragmented flowers
Residing there.
During those times
Oft sighted
The smallest wren sits
Atop a silvered rose
Warbling tunefully in my ear
Reminding me of songs left unsung.
copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2013
Request permission to use this poem