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Poetry
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| Almost a sonnet | |
| By no1butClo | ||||
| 22 August 2006 | ||||
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sorry i'm posting a few, but i've been away for a while. Feedback would be much appreciated right now, in a rut from lack of routine and too much time to daydream. He smiled like a rosebud and she wept like a thorn but her tears pierced the wrong heart. All she does now is sit by the river, never dipping less than a toe, waiting for a riptide to wash away her melancholy. Watching the willows reach for the glassy surface they seem to creek, and moan, and ache for it. Neither girl nor tree comes close enough to get it.
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