Young Stefan snuck out early
before the sun would break
to make a quick excursion
picking flowers by the lake,
his Mother’s warnings echoed
oh what a fuss she’d make
but how her heart would buckle
so he hastened there to take
a handful of the brightest blooms
whose heady incense swelled
to fill his mind with fantasies
not easily dispelled
which caused him to ignore the sound
when vicious soldiers yelled,
and there within a muddy ditch
that precious waif was felled.
Are You Reading Me?
Bob, This is one of those poems I can't stop reading. It not only reads beautifully, it carries a very deep message that causes the reader the think. You painted a picture with words that I can see. That is becoming rare these days.
ReplyDeleteI agree with Shirley. Great work here.
ReplyDeleteHey thanks a lot both of you. All this war stuff is just overpowering. I feel so bad for Ashraf and his family that it's hard to be positive. take care,
ReplyDeleteBob