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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1207791
Her death. (Writer's Cramp)
The last time I saw my mother
was fifteen years ago
as I stood in the snow,
cheeks cold from wind and tears.
Divulging secrets,
whispers heard by
no one.

The last time I saw my mother
was fifteen years ago
heels sinking in the snow,
pure white breath disappears.
Roses by her head,
beauty seen by
no one

The last time I saw my mother
was fifteen years ago
angel resting on snow,
a creak, and she is gone;
handed back to earth.
Sadness felt by
one.
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