Sweet Soul

by P. R. Lowe

Copyright © March 26,2017

Joy was her game

and love came in each footfall

The call of something ethereal

in her ways

filling my days with smiling

her beguiling scent

never knowing anyone

like her before

I miss her more each day

not less in passing time

but the sublime truth

of her existence

at all

is persistent in every

falling leaf

every bit of grief

absorbed into earth

birthing this spirit

again and again.

This entry was posted in Auto-writing and Remembering, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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