My Dearest Poetry
A story of chilling cold, through these icy, cold days.
The world remembers those golden spring leaves, again.
A dead-white snowy night wrap all those frozen words
Although, starlight missed the tiny lamp, today, in your room.
The pen was left alone, on one side, no one noticed that also
The ink is still there left intact, with the abundance of intrepidation.
But you were reluctant to drop those words on blank pages,
At Least, not today. No way. We won’t today, my dearest poetry.
When, somewhere, out there,
A story of a chilling cold goes on... through these icy, cold days.
Then The world remembers those silent, golden spring leaves, again.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
