Soft words from a broken sky
Today as in all daysshe will wish for all
things tarte and sweet,
a butter ball at her feet
that will twine
as spring sunshine
beats its fiery tones
warming the cobbles
sending spumes of steam
as if an iron is
smoothing an old world
crumpleless
and
as in all times past
when man and weather
make a pact
she will smooth the cotton
and seat herself on the
well worn cushions
which a butter ball keeps
warm, shedding love
that she will need a soft
brush and not really minding
biscuits pur buerre and
a nip, un petit verre
and when time calls
and a spring sky threatens
she will beat the old rug
high up above the cobbles
as dust motes swirl
on lovers dodging puddles
youth in uncreased smiles
and she'll smile and recall
the lovers who once
beat at her door.
A butter ball purrs
and tastes a crumb
while she mumbles
a jumble of words,
and the scented frangipani
of youth and sweetness,
in dried corsages
kept in drawers
until cedar is not distinguishable
and lies
slip as airlessly as
a still summer night
a hundred years ago
soft words from a broken sky
Poetry by Elle
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Written on 2021-04-07 at 16:21
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