Gray Snow

What I never hope to see.

They fall

Through the air,

Like a fiery snow,

Gray memories of my old

House and my life left behind.

A tear

Falls from Mother's

Wearied and bleak eyes,

All of her hard work

Up in flames and black smoke.

Father

Hangs his head,

Forlorn and broken down,

The pieces of his masterpiece

Charred to the black of death.

Home is

Not replaced

With but a whim.

Author's Note

I feel like the ending lacks again. Any ideas?

Reviews

[Bowers]

actually I like the end, I like how its a thought that... leave to to contemplate the ending, its a great way of writing in my opinion. Nice job.

[Jared Michael Smith]

Thanks! :-) I just thought it wouldn't make sense from a style point of view because of the length of the last stanza.

[Bowers]

oh, well, perhaps you may be right, I suppose its in the readers interpretation..?

[Jared Michael Smith]

This is true.