I Write My Poems In Blood
It snowed and snowed on the day I was born,
And for that reason I love falling snow;
In dreams, I walk the frozen woods till morn,
And from my pen the words just drip and flow.
And from a child, I was quiet and odd,
Choosing to read old books and write my words;
I would wander in nature and be awed,
Loving the songs and beauty of sweet birds.
A bird of green is singing me a song,
And on my hand she came to look at me;
I hold my breath and she became my friend,
This gothic girl is deeply sad, forlorn.
Was born to weep, to write my verse in blood,
A cold wind reminds me that I must wake;
And snow is falling softly in my dream,
It snowed and snowed on the day I was born
______________________________
May 11, 2016
Blank Verse
For the contest, I Drew A Blank
sponsor, John Lawless
Seventh Place
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2016
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