Poetry Friday: White Ribbons

White Ribbons

The white house on the corner,
with lavender blooms tracing the fence till
fall, where the little girl had worn her
hair up, hiding behind her sharpened pencil.

Worn her hair up, blonde curls in white ribbons. Molly
read her fairytales in the treetops, dreaming
of walnuts, and castles, and red trolleys.
Sunlight poured through curtain leaves; shining, streaming.

Sunlight poured onto old story pages, shafts of
gold on black print. Molly swung her feet, her
hands on low branches, and through the air her laughter
fell upon the ears of Peter.

Her laughter fell, but sighed soft now,
quiet like a hymn in church. But Peter, all he
did was smile and walk, turning down
the lane, and behind him treaded Molly.

Turning down the lane, he began to run,
his feet barely touching earth. Molly
watched with wide eyes; she had come
from her fairytales, quiet like snowflakes, following.

Come from her fairytales, blonde curls in white
ribbons, and she looked at the sky.
She untied her hair, wore it down, reflecting light.
Peter taught her to run; she learned how to fly.

* * *

The white house on the corner,
with gentle blossoms on trees where birds
sang, where the little girl had worn her
hair up, hiding behind her whispered words.

White ribbons on low branches, sunbeams on blonde curls.
A book between their laps, children dreamed of
warm raindrops in August. A boy and girl
read softly to each other, learning how to love.

Advertisements

Smile back

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s