Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
In a dark room at the top of the hill Last summer flowers brought in from the chill She placed them just so in a vase of pure white In hopes they would last through a few more hard nights With daffodils yellow and daisies bright red Warming the nightstand beside her cold bed There in the gloom on colorful display Two petals had wilted much to her dismay Stroking the softness of each fallen frond Knowing to stem they could no longer bond She watched one more petal float down to the floor A tear slowly fell as she then plucked three more Plucking the petals in lost reverie “He loves me not but does he love me” One for the moments they shared in delight Two for the secrets revealed in the night Three for the dreams and the wishes so pure Four for reality’s hardened, cold cure Five petals lost for the time they were wed Six fell like tears to alight on her bed Seven plucked petals to remind of his song And then, just like him, all the petals were gone There in a dark room at the top of the hill Blown petals returned into winter’s cold chill
0
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 2:06 AM UTC
plucking petals
In a dark room at the top of the hill Last summer flowers brought in from the chill She placed them just so in a vase of pure white In hopes they would last through a few more hard nights With daffodils yellow and daisies bright red Warming the nightstand beside her cold bed There in the gloom on colorful display Two petals had wilted much to her dismay Stroking the softness of each fallen frond Knowing to stem they could no longer bond She watched one more petal float down to the floor A tear slowly fell as she then plucked three more Plucking the petals in lost reverie “He loves me not but does he love me” One for the moments they shared in delight Two for the secrets revealed in the night Three for the dreams and the wishes so pure Four for reality’s hardened, cold cure Five petals lost for the time they were wed Six fell like tears to alight on her bed Seven plucked petals to remind of his song And then, just like him, all the petals were gone There in a dark room at the top of the hill Blown petals returned into winter’s cold chill
Written by
American
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 2:06 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem