The loving touch with her dainty hands

The soft caress of her shaky bob slithers

Seemed to yarn the mystic wonder.

Ignored to play in the tender shades

The bride newly made.

The past in today’s date.

The dainty little quiver

Grown in her lonely tread

To kiss her groom in all delight.

 

When she was not so old

Her smile was a glee,

Sung many a tunes untold.

Today she is lost and gone

Amidst the curly feathers

Of an anonymous morn.

Yet so precious amidst all forlorn.
To kindle me to a new dawn.

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