Greeting Card Maker | Poem Art Generator

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Oh how the sun chafes the parasol betrays his flame and fades his fame for brightening holes in a honeycomb net of regret bone bobbin lily-lace silk garden sewn and grown— a veil mid breath and death hides the widow’s face absent of light the night-dyed parasol downplays his flame and shades his fame for coaxing white daisies to displant a cast-iron wraith filling a sorrow’s-hole in the soul of a mourner unconsoled her gloom-gloved hands hold a teardrop handle delicate as a pear-shaped tear a solitaire clasped to a frilly lash before its dash down a fragment of her figurine cheek— another drop fills a daffodil’s cup the black parasol’s crêpe ruffles f l u t t e r like a dark tressed debutante's chocolate-eyed fringe breezes breathe into willow ribs tugging on a parasol’s windy-wish —oh its windy-wish— to g l i d e with cumulus a raven amongst doves soft and away an aerial display a whoosh-y rebellion against Victorian theatre-grief her absent-minded hands turn the parasol a tragic automatic pinwheel bereft of joy—heartache’s toy a drudge attending to her lady’s dirge of thoughts… the parasol heavy with gravity of desires unfulfilled a parasol-pall spins with a twirl as sad as duskywing’s death spiral— her accessory witness to wish-casting and storm-bearing a weeper’s keeper of concealed daydreams a comfort from the chiseler sun who dares to cast a prying lamp onto her private funeral eyes she stands alone a cipher at his grave grim as a nun in black habit a conscience without a convent a vestal without virginity decorative… useless she stands alone as a barren Rose of Sharon a fallow mallow enmeshed in the bramble of widow’s weeds a meadow-saffron without delights of earthy spice— who savors only flavors of drip-dried-dreams brined in saline sorrow she stands alone a monologue shadow reciting silhouette soliloquies gray rainbow-lips rhythmic in her reverie— a weave threads in a tempest where laughter and wail entangle ascending in wrangle-whirl to startle-s a i l like a starling murmuration across fair-skinned skies marred by cirrus scars— phantom flock-of-phrases f l y pulsing light and dark before dropping from earless care-less air bones of passion hollow breaking upon his burial ground m e m o r i e s the measly heaps at her feet his headstone deadpan absorbed in thoughts of its own stoic as a monastic persistent in resistance — her piteous pleas unheeded pious cypress pray for her they sway—backlit with an aura of haloed angels her parasol-storm cloud spins hood of dusk overcast-eyes betray face of unclouded evenfall obelisk shadow needles her need to leave— mortal hours spun with the sun who was shunned dwindle sunbeam-shaped-shadows mock demise of golden swan god shadows lay long upon litterfall remains of the dying day composting with skeletons of leaves churchyard cypress supple-spined at noon stand erect for Evensong swept up like saints in salutation lifted with chapel voices r i s i n g from a white-cloud-choir elevating the Magnificat beyond the bruised-bloom of bella donna blue cypress stretch for immortality yet remain mortal medieval-rooted in drama of her qualm grown in the loam of her psalm’s groan a lament of fate tinged with praise of faith she walks alone the black parasol folded tucked under her arm— a blackbird roosted ‘til dawn

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