IRISH WIDOW
It's a dreary kind of story, but a story young and old,
in a way already finished, in a way it's never told,
you can hear it when it's raining, but it's never meant to hear,
it's a love not meant for seeing, but will never disappear.
From the Poconos it's singing through the Pennsylvania trees,
and a lot like Irish whiskey, it's a little bit of tease,
if a summer rain is falling, it will be a little right,
if a cold wind is ablowing, it will bring a little blight.
It's a love a girl was living for a boy who changed her name,
but an empty kind of feeling, for the way he played the game,
so she killed him in the morning, and she buried him alone,
while the buttonwoods were crying, her poor heart was turned to stone.
You can hear them in the morning, you can hear them late at night,
it's a dreary kind of story, but it's how they always fight.
She will hit him with a hammer, he will stab her with his knife,
but you know before the evening, he'll be buried by his wife.
© Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Categories:
buttonwoods, ireland,
Form: Lyric
Wind swept leaves fluttering in the breeze
Walking on crunchy, bronzed and orange leaves
Peaceful places leave traces of natures effects
Bare trees hung with their dull bark, stripped of their objects
Scurrying across the ground, a chipmunk rushed to hide
Horse hoof marks pressed into the mounds-
Of softened soil, where they reside
Evening slowly falls around the woods,
As we walk with chatter, past the buttonwoods
Leggy pines drop off their needles
Blanketing the floor with an apple cedar rust
Their fragrant scent mixes with the must
Now direction could easily be lost, as the woods all look the same
A faint chirp of a bird calling out a name
Broken twigs and a hole where animals dug
Carefully, I watch my position
Now, shadows lurk about like a magician
The mind plays tricks on my intuition
The slightest bang and bow of the trees
Knocking together as they squeeze
We walk hand and hand, while nature-
Completes her expertise
Categories:
buttonwoods, love, nature, places
Form: Free verse