The Weeping
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I hear your whisper, mother,
as I walk a silent winding path;
where trees hang with tears,
and decaying bouquets sigh with love.
Don't cry, mother, I plead . . .
but, the weeping is mine
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May 07, 2022
Poetry/Imagism/The Weeping
Copyright Protected, ID 05-1454-128-07
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Bite Size Poem, No 43
sponsor, Line Gauthier, Judged 05/14/2022
Honorable Mention
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2022
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