Of Loves, Once Borne
She was weaving a silken tapestry with long silver threads
and golden memories from her life that hadn't yet faded
Drizzles of sorrow fell with every loving stitch taken
until the storm became a deluge, leaving her feeling jaded
She rose from the prick of needling work, leaving it forsaken
Walked to shed the weight of despair in her garden beds
but petals from withered jasmine were scattered around
blowing about in the wind, and some lying on the ground
Only one was left, its stem holding tight to the bloom
She smiled but dared not to touch the perfumed beauty
Humans discolor the purity of innocent flower heads
Ink flowed from pen to paper, her reminiscing took flight
Reflections of loss that no beating heart can e're restore
She wrote of Spring and a future that once seemed bright
of Summer days when love was hers to have and hold
Lines of the cusping of Autumn, and snow in Winter's cold
Times when she'd built a fire, burning deep inside her soul
She paused when visions began pooling in her weary eyes
Dropped the pen recording verses of remorse and grief
and blamed time, the thief who stole from her, loves once borne
then torn from her and still she grieves when remembering
when she'd worn her wounded heart on bloodied sleeves
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