My first attempt at a sestina, about lost love. |
in summers garden, a single rose bears the bite of wintry breath that drives from heart each echo of warmth, of love, of hope gold-hued bloom, now thorned for us lest we dare forget the fall once upon a moon-tinged fall against malevolent silence, we rose no chill in our air could tame us we blazed toward life with bated breath your laughter, then, gave me hope now all that's left is the echo each withered leaf mirrors that echo as from its tree it must fall yet spring brings to life fresh hope a warm sun to thaw golden rose no more to die by frost-bit breath should love again choose to seek us sweet summers song warmed us as we danced within its echo our steps forbore wintry breath and let slip into memory the fall at last our lovely golden rose seemed to glow with eternal hope we clung too tight to hope and though it never left us each petal from our love-filled rose shriveled, withered by time's echo and we remembered, too late, the fall that heralds winters deadly breath every memory becomes new breath now summer cannot guard false hope that kept hid dark secrets of fall the sun that enticed its dance from us has faded now to shadow and echo but stolen the glow of loves rose in winters breath, summer mirrored us we trusted hope, then suffered the echo when fall let winter slay our golden rose. |