On Mothers Day
and Fathers Day
septs of orphans
slip thistle sepals
through their lapels,
tally the days
since partition,
taste the halite
in their lesions,
till the sepia past
for lisles that bind,
but find only silt, ash,
septal defects, pistils,
spathes and stipes
of withered lillies,
and haspless staples
with which to tile
their hills of hell
on Mothers Day
and Fathers Day
A 'sound' poem. Visit Tuesday Poem for more great poetry.
Goodness, this one grips my heart, Keith.
ReplyDeleteThanks Michelle
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