She Weeps
She weeps-
Shall I throw roses on your tomb,
or flowers that I saved;
or perhaps a simple meadows growth,
of sleep tangled angel's breath.
The soft snow will be your blanket,
your death was really your fault;
that is the reality you left me darling.
He whispers-
Faded now are the flowers at my tomb,
among the trees my spirit drifts;
I wait in this eternal sleep,
my regret is not being stronger.
Yes, it was my fault,
it was my fault, that is the truth;
the raindrops that fall,
are my tears of sadness.
________________________
December 4, 2012
Poetry/Verse/She Weeps
Copyright Protected, ID 12-440-443-04
All Rights Reserved, 2012, Constance La France
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2012
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