Thursday, December 27, 2018

More Than We Can See...(so be kind, my friend)






That brazen hill once wore the fragile frill of Queen Ann’s lace
That frozen field by snow concealed was once a sea of gold
The barren tree, on winter’s lea doffed of Her green-spun grace
Is not all that she seems to be, that woman bent and old
Was once the girl that turned the heads of Casanovas past
Was once a mama’s pride and joy, a husband’s heart and soul
A mother to the girls and boys that grew up way too fast
A fairest-of-all-flowers before winter took its toll
That hoary head once red-blonde-chestnut-raven tossed, carefree
Is but the crown of wisdom on the girl she used to be  

© Janet Martin

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