a woman who wore pink pearls,
woven into her vain curls,
drew her last sweet breath,
when she died her sudden death.
now she rests under these stones,
while her pearls rot with her bones.
----
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
I don't believe pearls can actually rot, so don't pounce on me for logic. It's a metaphor.
I wrote this poem a few years back, and I found it today when I was cleaning (a ghastly task, tbh).
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BURN (Wattys2015?)
Poetry"Poetry...is thoughts that breathe and words that burn."--Thomas Gray "Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash." --Leonard Cohen Poems on the tough stuff in life. Poems on the crazy good stuff in li...
