Written before my mother actually started her death decline, a premonition like vision. Mom passed over in January 2012. I spun out into severe depression. I miss mom.
lost to songbird twitter.
The Garden's fragrances
bloom among fresh lit charcoal.
The smell of the grill
is lost to the feel
of youthful laughter
with Marco Polo splashes
misting memories in the face.
She lays them all down to sleep
as the night befalls upon
the soft beds of dead silence.
Camped under a canopy of stars,
She hears the pinecones drop
and scans the skies for meteors.
Then, calmly, she closes her eyes,
and waits for one more sunrise.
But deaf is the Dawn
to the rooster's loud crow,
To sounds of the pinecones.
And Death finally drowns
the remnants of their twitter.
Poetry by Clara Mae Gregory
Read 18 times
Written on 2026-03-24 at 02:52
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Drop (slightly revised)
The sounds of pinecones drop,lost to songbird twitter.
The Garden's fragrances
bloom among fresh lit charcoal.
The smell of the grill
is lost to the feel
of youthful laughter
with Marco Polo splashes
misting memories in the face.
She lays them all down to sleep
as the night befalls upon
the soft beds of dead silence.
Camped under a canopy of stars,
She hears the pinecones drop
and scans the skies for meteors.
Then, calmly, she closes her eyes,
and waits for one more sunrise.
But deaf is the Dawn
to the rooster's loud crow,
To sounds of the pinecones.
And Death finally drowns
the remnants of their twitter.
Poetry by Clara Mae Gregory
Read 18 times
Written on 2026-03-24 at 02:52
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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