eclipse Posted June 7, 2012 Share Posted June 7, 2012 The cold autumn winds cannot reunite leaves with trees-the robins rain enraptured eyes and wind waltzed wings tempt caged tears that grieve. A widow plants flowers-her old man lies ready to caress the contours of a rose, his fingers are phantoms too frail to grip a swaying rose as the cemetery gates close and with newly found notes the robin slips into a rhapsody. Fingers rove across thorns, a flower soothed into stillness a wifes haunted heart made still by the loss of harking for the music of madness. Under red winter skies a robin bathes snow falls from thorns below ice captured graves. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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