Who is she but a woman there,
Staring through the fog and air,
To glare across the protruding ledge,
At the lonely, dismal bridge?
Alas, no joy rests on her face,
As tears creep down her pale cheeks,
He hands grasp carelessly at the cold,
To capture the life she used to hold.
She falls there grieving on the ground,
But from her lips there comes no sound,
And as she cried from the wicked ledge,
Her true love's ghost waved from the bridge.
YOU ARE READING
The World Inside My Mind
PoesiaThe poetry I have have written for in this book is meant to create a scene inside your mind as you read. They will be descriptive and, more often then not, will have a fantasy theme. Enjoy!
