PRINCE
To this meadow near we often came to play.
We pushed our cart with mud caked wheels this day.
The contents wrapped in shroud from toe to head.
Grief grasps our hearts, for Prince is dead.
Myra's gift at age four was one fur ball of joy.
A tease, with mouth often dangling a toy.
I watched them play from across the street.
One day Prince whined at me so sweet.
“Can you come over and play?"
Our eyes engaged and never looked away.
With burst of love he launched up to my chin.
Slobbered me with kisses that provoked a loving grin.
That day we formed a bond for life.
This day brought only grief and strife.
When final crumbs of soft damp dirt
covered and tucked him in., it hurt.
Sounds were quiet in the wood.
Myra Mae coaxed me to where she stood.
Blackbirds watched us from the meadow fence.
Sobbing, we embraced and shed our childhood innocence.
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.
