Wintery Prisms
It’s an antique brass urn
Now the coldest day at noon
And the crystals snowflakes gather
There is a prism in my room
It's chilling, in here, I noticed, picking up your urn
Speechless, I stood, having nothing to say
In quietness, from my eye, as I began to turn
A white feather floated, lingering in a sun-ray
Dangling freely in the air, it looked, if to loom
Are you here? I sober, on this icy frozen day
In the silence, now hearing a specific tune
The one you so loved to hum and pray
That feather came to rest upon my lonely pillow
Is this a sign, I then asked, did you come to lay?
Outside blows the bare branches of a Willow
“Yes, once we were, lets be forever, if we may.“
It’s an antique brass urn
Now the coldest day at noon
And the crystals snowflakes gather
There is a prism in my room
©2015
Perhaps a visitation from a departed love one © 8 minutes ago, bonnie jennings spiritual • death
Copyright © Bonnie Jennings | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment