Hopes

Her dreams are fast held
apples in an apron
and the hand around her hip
that levers her to ground.

Her hopes are strained
through muslin cloths,
the pureé of the autumn fuit,
the sweetness on her lips.

Her heart is on the right side,
the one that steers,
minds the mires and the pitfalls
and doesn't lie while she sleeps.

Her serenity is not a sheen
or a glean in the mountain of false gold,
Its in the smell of turned earth
and the spring of all eternal rebirth.

She and all who she is,
the love, the aspirations,
failings and successes
She is all who she is
and her steps, already worn.





Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 800 times
Written on 2010-10-17 at 17:00

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NicholasG
Magnificent writing!
Nick
2010-10-18


Anne Westlund
I like this one very much, Elle.

Anne
2010-10-18


shells
I loved the quiet determination of this one and wondered if you had someone in mind when you wrote this, or is it just Autumn.
2010-10-17