Tuesday, June 17, 2008

A Season In Eight Lines

She touched you,

And you became a wind chime--

And even if

There never was a next time,

She touched you

Like the springtime touches trees,

Sending blossoms to the breeze--

Tones of music and of color left behind.



crimsonflaw said...

beautiful...i love the title and the images...and yes that mythical tactility...

wonderful poem indeed.

Fireblossom said...

Thank you so much CF, and welcome to the Word Garden!