Song of February
White and purple petals of Iris
must at least remind me of faith
yet I see different on its shade—
the memory of my younger days:
I see the man of my February—
the ocean waves of my mornings
smelling not of a dazzling flower
but of americano and biscotti
I see garden of paper buds
and written were all his letters
of love that I've kept for a lifetime
and promises that I waited forever
I see the ghost of my past
who I once dreamt my future with
who I once wished to be my last
but death took him away from me
White and purple shades of Iris
must remind me of February
and never the tears on my face
that day when I was left by him
YOU ARE READING
Metaphors Beneath the Riptides
Poetry"Your I-love-you was like a scribble in a sand- At first it was there then next it was not" Metaphors beneath the Riptides An Anthology By Eos Pleuvoir 2020 Cover Made with Canva
