Wintery Prisms

It’s an antique brass urn Now the coldest day at noon And the crystals snowflakes gather There is a prism in my room It's chilling, in here, I noticed, picking up your urn Speechless, I stood, having nothing to say In quietness, from my eye, as I began to turn A white feather floated, lingering in a sun-ray Dangling freely in the air, it looked, if to loom Are you here? I sober, on this icy frozen day In the silence, now hearing a specific tune The one you so loved to hum and pray That feather came to rest upon my lonely pillow Is this a sign, I then asked, did you come to lay? Outside blows the bare branches of a Willow “Yes, once we were, lets be forever, if we may.“ It’s an antique brass urn Now the coldest day at noon And the crystals snowflakes gather There is a prism in my room ©2015 Perhaps a visitation from a departed love one © 8 minutes ago, bonnie jennings spiritual • death