Lines on the floor

Once a tree, now leaves of a burning poem in haze of age does roam

Words of smoke carry on the breeze a brightening light for distant trees

Ashes tread over by the masses stick to their shoes as molasses

Carried far from its place of birth, smell of rhyme dropped on the earth

Now inky bits hard to find spread through nature's open mind

When at home shoes remove, worded pieces fall from each sole's groove

Soot swept out the door but not before it leaves marks on the floor

Reviews

[Thomas W Case]

FANTASTIC WORK, MY FRIEND.