The Sunday Scribblings prompt is "Poverty". Perhaps the saddest poverty is poverty of hope.THIS YEAR... (villanelle)
as spring comes tenderly
sun beads the silver threads of rain
too frail for weight of memory.
The scent of loam and hum of bee
drift faintly to her once again
this year as spring comes tenderly.
This is the year she will not see
the blossoms bud and bloom and wane
too frail for weight of memory.
She thinks she once was young and free
not bound to bed in which she’s lain
this year as spring comes tenderly.
New grasses’ slim fragility
mirrors her failing pulse and vein
too frail for weight of memory.
Ban hope, ban song, ban flowering tree!
Remembering brings too much pain
this year as spring comes tenderly
too frail for weight of memory.
