This was written for One Stop Poetry's One Shot Wednesday.
Dancing With The Breezeby Lisa McCourt Hollar
I heard him whisper my name,
His voice rustling in the wind,
Whilst blossoms fell from the boughs,
To scatter in the breeze.
Icy fingers caressed my face,
Wispy tendrils tracing my lips,
Kissing me with gusts of air,
Coloring my cheeks pink.
Kneeling next to his grave,
With bowed head, I cried,
Tears falling to the ground,
Watering seeds left behind.
To sprout with the falling rain,
Blossoms reborn with the spring,
Growing from the ashes of death.
To dance once more with the breeze.
Copyright© 2011 Lisa McCourt Hollar. All rights reserved.