The Whiskey Taster’s Flavor Guide

I'M Maple Grey

I'm Maple Grey
I'm winged prey
with leaves of mine I think I'm poor
My crown will fall
to hurt my soul
like many hundreds of crowns before.

My leaves are red
My spring is dead
It will be back, but I can't wait
I don't know how
I'll be pleased now
for skies and my so cruel fate.

I have a dream
The sun will beam
returning leaves; I have to pray.
It will be spring
Your love will sing
And you will find your Maple Grey.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

Poem

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Turner Avatar
January 30, 2016 at 2:53 PM
Great write, Serge. Everybody's dreaming of spring, already.
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The Whiskey Taster’s Flavor Guide
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace