Palette poetry

Hen Fredrickson's paint palette inspired this ditty

Hen Fredrickson’s paint palette inspired this ditty

That’s the bed where he used to lay

when the sun set on his pillow

That’s the song that won’t go away

where music wept like a willow

That’s the dream that we used to share

as the moon danced through the window

That’s the night that never ended

the waning that made a widow.

That’s the blanket we used to warm

against the winter’s icy chill

That’s the torn quilt of fam’ly guilt

that left our beliefs unfulfilled

That’s the place where we used to be

where our dreams became fragile histories

That’s the place where I mourn him still

forfeited by death’s tragic mysteries

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s