Vases


It's crystal like vases
Running in worries of different cases.
Dry cold turns to cold,
And yet no warmer of a day to settle in
Upturned--
It's not the urn but instead a welling up of
Springs wishing to make the trees dance again if only
In a hush till the laces call the wintry spiders home.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem