there’s this boy

I don’t know him

like me

he remains in spring

I have seen the pictures

she shows with joy

of him and his lover

with passion she boasts

in her eye

his beauty is clear

an un-wilting floret

character of her utmost pride

she looks at me

withering spring


many winters ago

with a smile she says

your mother too

must be proud


that warm tenderness

delivered cruel frost

to my soul


©PseudoBop 2018 All rights reserved.


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