The Orchid
It was pressed hard within the worn yellow pages
The hard-bound book of "War and Peace"
Spoke well of their years together
The scent long past
The orchid with its delicately tied bow
Now just remnants; dried with curled satin
It had been yesterday, so it seemed
With a smile gingerly she placed it
Now she felt the decay
The feeling was old and crumbled as the pages
Leading to tears congregating and saturating the inscription
"My darling, I will always love you"
The wetness then traveled through the volume
Staining the blank last page
The hard-bound book of "War and Peace"
Spoke well of their years together
The scent long past
The orchid with its delicately tied bow
Now just remnants; dried with curled satin
It had been yesterday, so it seemed
With a smile gingerly she placed it
Now she felt the decay
The feeling was old and crumbled as the pages
Leading to tears congregating and saturating the inscription
"My darling, I will always love you"
The wetness then traveled through the volume
Staining the blank last page
posted by Serpthia | 3:38 PM
2 Comments:
That's beautiful. I have often come across treasures tucked into my grandmother's books and wondered to what dance she might have worn a flower, which suitor gave it to her. Did she remember she had it after all that time? It's always amazing to me how sometimes these ancient gestures outlive us to tell stories to new generations.
wow, .... this is amazing, i'm speechless. nice job
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