PatternsA Poem by Beccywhat love isHe knew the gesture so well, a shoe, momentarily dangling, then slipping discarded to the floor. He would smile, move in closer, her barefoot laughter, light as air, echoing in the otherwise silent room. Soon then, they would engage, a murmuration of two; La petite mort, but that was before she flew, like a frightened little bird, far, far away. She knows he still thinks of her; mostly in the early morning when birdsong fills her heart with memory. And in springtime, when the snowdrops she planted burst into life. And in summer, when the scent of freshly mown grass is all that assails her senses. And in autumn, when the russet gold carpet of fallen leaves are stirred only by the wind. And in the winter, when the first snowfall carries no trace of her footsteps, no trace at all.
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20 Reviews Added on December 28, 2015 Last Updated on December 26, 2019 AuthorBeccyUnited KingdomAboutI'm forty four, single and have a lovely fifteen year old son called Charlie. I've been writing poetry and short stories since I can remember. I have always been an assiduous reader of poetry and real.. more..Writing
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