Pester D. Finches > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

A letter to my dear one, shaken with grief.

Sitting in the cemetery on pine ridge road, 11:00 am, May 25th

Eyes of man Through the eyes of man, a pigeon Sits, bloody, bruised, and fearing life. A horrid rat of city Skies, condemned The seed of mans ..

I keep your roses on my desk, Though they are dead and dry, Though sure am I some fresh ones live, I cannot toss them by.

What haunts the trees of old In the pitchness, darkness black and pure, Where the sylvan branches hide the moon, And the stars from pleasant si..

TO MY BIRD Chickadee in the willow tree, Do you sing or do you cry To me? I see you sitting there Among the yellow branches. I say young bi..

The willow tree Once a poor old man sat beneath a willow tree, Under the leaves and birds sat he, And he sat and thought and waited for his bride..

Misery in London People walking along the grey stone street, On past that grey old church of old times’ sake, Up the walk, and down the g..

Bloody steeple You stood at your corner, outside of your church, I watched from afar, my sweet, my love, As the rain came falling, strait down ..

Ghastly morning Dank is the day with sorrow surrounding you, All of the shadows are closing in on you, Crystals and flowers, dark as my sum..