PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

She didn’t arise that morning

Just as her father before her . . .

Life left her cold in the nocturne,

Like a small caged bird flown away

Torments of the soul left behind

Self made misery abandoned

At the end of the road of life

Unhappiness left in a heap

As a pile of unwanted clothes . . .

Her memorial deferred until spring

Ironically her favorite season.