CRUSHED PETALS
Outside, on the doorstep
lay some snow filled boots, unused
like the axe against the tree
Of toil it was now free
and a future you could not see
left to rust and to rot
and for nature to abuse
no one strong enough to use
Sullenly The Widow Gently Frowns
Unaffected by the Knight
Who Steals the Dreams
her life is rendered by the seams
and stiffels down her screams
Remembering Long Dead laughter
as it fades into the night
which to her is only right
The Knight picks a Flower
That the Dawn will never see
Turns His Head into the wise
See the turmoil in his eyes
Is it tears or is it lies
crushed petals in his hand
You will not Know but only see
Is it you or is it me
She Throws Incense in the Fire
And it Glows Purple in the Flames
Bringing Aromatic Smoke into the Room
reminding her of church and tomb
Both are Pernicious in the Gloom
the candle goes out
Only the Memory Remains
With the darkness making claims
A Nightingale, not in courus
Sing a mournful little Song
See the Sadness in its Eyes
Only, Owls are really Wise
Lamenting as the sun begins to rise
The moon hides behind a Cloud
Shadows starting black and long
Was it right or was it wrong
