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.