Upon
My Sill
Form:
Kyrielle
I
pick a Sunburst clad in gold
and place her in a vase of cheer.
Upon my shanty sill she croons
with matchless notes that echo clear.
Each day I smooth her tousled locks
to brush away each thorn of drear
as songs of seasons come and go
with matchless notes that echo clear.
Oh my! She caught her death of cold -
my golden maiden, precious dear!
A drafty breeze did catch her breath
with matchless notes that echo clear
and carried all my cheer away
where blossoms pale in night's premiere,
yet I believe from skies she rings
with matchless notes that echo clear!
Susan Annabelle Crowe © 2007, Tales Flowers Tell
