Morning dew smells sweet on the grass
The icy chill makes her reach for her coat
Nothing but the moon lights her way
As she treads through the meadow.
When she got back, daisies in hand,
She set the table for two.
Then the moon set low and and momma awoke
To the sweet smell of flowers by her bed.
Just like papa used to do.
YOU ARE READING
Ballerina
PoetryThis is a compilation of poetry that I wrote through my senior year of high school for my favorite English class. I wrote these poems at a time in my life where everything was changing- for the better. I hope you enjoy them.
