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.

____________________________________

2 comments:

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!