My Poetic Flowers
After all the deaths I just stopped talking,
A young girl grief-stricken;
And some wondered if I was listening,
Write, write it, said grandma in the kitchen.
She gave me a journal,
That day a poet was born inside me;
My words now eternal,
Poetry is my sweet butterfly set free . . .
I can let go of all the pain in words,
All the sad weeping tears;
My poems drifting with the soaring birds,
So many written over all these years.
With a beautiful pen,
I can take you to a place of sorrow;
Paint a scene now and then,
My poetic flowers with love, will grow . . .
_____________________
May 21, 2015
Poetry/Rhyme/My Poetic Flowers
Copyright Protected, ID 05-676-017-21
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, A Poet's Worth
sponsor, FJ Thomas, Judged 2015
First Place
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2015
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