Feb 12, 2017
Bonus Love Poem
Her fresh bloomed garden Reaped by dull scythe Ragged and pale The well ran dry of hope Only tears filled the furrows The salted soil fell fallow Brittle, then heaved in frost
She'll endure this wasted land Till dew and dawn then dew again Give succor to this soil With each autumn's wind In blowing leaves and blades of grass The hope for a single seed From which a garden might grow