Wedding Song
Her hands,
heavily wrinkled,
touch the thorns
on the rose.
The petals-
color of the pinprick
of blood on her finger-
drop to the table's
cherry bark surface.
The petals are flour-soft-
her leathery grasp
feels like sandpaper.
She views the morning,
the pines and maples, and birch,
their wraith- like branches cloaked
in their shiny garb.
The song sparrows
congregate as
the yellow -daisy tints
of the sunrise softly touch
ruby-sienna bricks of the tenement,
-in which she quietly yearns..
like the hush of falling snow-
to bloom again-
in a Summer garden.
.
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.
