My Saint


Her hair matched the brilliant ruby tones of her cheeks when she flushed in the cold.
Built so ethereally, if you told me she was an angel I would believe you.
I was convinced she was one.
she and I would walk in the cold of that winter, our arms
so close,
our shadows appeared to be tethered at the hands,
I could only pray of being that close to her.
Those who were touched by her song knew her tongue was the law of kindness,
flowers grew on the ground she walked on.
Even in the late frost.
She was the type of girl that knew God,
she had heard him.
Found comfort in his scripture.
I only knew God when I was with her.
Only in those moments was I clean.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem