Here is the answer to a challenge from NotaDeadPoet. The last line was what I had to make a poem out of.
Old and frail she sat in her rocking chair
She lived through four kids
Piles of clothes were her past
Ripped jeans
Torn shirts
Dresses that needed made for the school dance
Her sewing kit still rests next to her chair
Not used in more than thirty years
Threads fall to dust at the slightest touch
Pieces of cloth tattered from age
A small heart-shaped box
Laying silently in the corner
Hiding beneath some pattern pieces
Shards of metal more than seventy years old
Once used to create magic
Now they sit
Covered in brown powder
Opening it I can see it all
The straight pins have no points and safety pins are not safe
Poetry by Rob Taylor
Read 759 times
Written on 2007-02-10 at 01:15
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The Straight Pins Have No Points
I saw her every weekendOld and frail she sat in her rocking chair
She lived through four kids
Piles of clothes were her past
Ripped jeans
Torn shirts
Dresses that needed made for the school dance
Her sewing kit still rests next to her chair
Not used in more than thirty years
Threads fall to dust at the slightest touch
Pieces of cloth tattered from age
A small heart-shaped box
Laying silently in the corner
Hiding beneath some pattern pieces
Shards of metal more than seventy years old
Once used to create magic
Now they sit
Covered in brown powder
Opening it I can see it all
The straight pins have no points and safety pins are not safe
Poetry by Rob Taylor
Read 759 times
Written on 2007-02-10 at 01:15
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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