She did not want to die when the Skies were blue
And the Spring Whispering words of promises true,
Where Tulips rise from their Winter-Beds
And Snowdrops bloom by Roses Red.
The Southern Breeze It’s hint of days
Of lazy walks by Woodland ways,
And Songbirds sing with Hearts aglow;
A joy of days their songs bestow.
For she did not want to die when the Clouds were Gold,
Her life was short, all fate now told.
To leave the meadows, the spreading trees
The murmur and dance of flitting Bees.
And Cartwheeling Children that tumble down
And ring the dales with childish sound
By burning hills from melting Sun,
Then homeward-bound their frolics done.
The heady-fragrant scented air,
When Hera Breathed her presence there,
The patchwork quilt of wandering plains
And sheltered Groves from Summer Rains.
For she did not want to die when the Skies were blue;
But she Wilted and Waned the Winter through.
-
Author:
Kevin Hulme (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 25th, 2025 19:35
- Category: Sad
- Views: 9
Offline)
Comments2
A poem of metaphor and full of great images. Wonderful
Thank you for your Comment.
And so quick off the Mark.
I also would rather not but something is niggling deep within that it may be best to go when life around is all at its fullest expression so the grieving and leaving would be less harrowing… but then again, that notion may again change, as notions tent to do. 🙏🏻🕊
Thank you for Reading.
You truly welcome Kevin🙏🏻🕊
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