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Here is Annie’s writing prompt #14. It is a lovely picture, but I decided to deal with the quote in the picture for this prompt.  It says “If I let you in please don’t break anything.”

She told him,

“If I let you in, please don’t break anything.”

A wounded heart,

fragile like glass.

She longs to feel safe,

but what does that look like?

She must create it herself.

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I was having a hard time downloading the picture prompt. Click here to view the picture before or after reading my little poem.

She swings listlessly in the mist

In an Alice in Wonderland tree.

Cruel branches, knobby and angular.

In the weight of her surrounds

She sings mournfully of her man

Who fell in spring at Monte Cassino.

On a chilly, sunny day.

Flat terrain, near the Pamlico Sound.

Just a church and some houses.

My Uncle Guy Swindell helped build the church.

On our way to Lake Mattamuskeet,

were Virginia, Tim and me.

Uncle Guy was my great-uncle,

and Virginia’s stepfather.

I met a Spencer,

surely a relative in this tiny, swampy place,

home to my ancestors.

Inside,

the wood,

carved, dark, dusty.

narrow, spiral steps.

Outside,

the steeple.

Church at Fairfield, Hyde Co., NC

September

2011/09/07

Autumn shower,

Music to my ears!

Golden leaves,

made vivid,

on the ground.

I watch a mourning dove

sipping fervently from a puddle.

She seems so thirsty.

Where does she drink when it’s dry?

Mr. Doster

2011/02/27

Sweet, gentle soul,

I met him at church.

He was a slight, stooped fellow,

with an abundance of white hair for his 84 years.

His eyes were aqua-blue,

and rendered such kindness and calm.

He was “layed to rest” today,

out in the country,

atop a small hill.

He was my friend.

When I married,

I asked him to be an usher at my wedding

years ago.

I asked two elderly friends to be ushers,

as well as my brother.

Both of my friends have passed on.

Mr. Doster, I love you.

I know you loved me and my family.

I never thanked you for fighting in the war.

May I now?

Miss Ella will miss you, I know.

Terribly.

I’ll make sure she knows we’re here

loving her and missing you.

I saw anguish today.

A sharp, handsome man,

in his 89th year,

left for the funeral mass of his

beloved wife.

Escorted by an equally handsome son,

dressed in a fine black suit,

he sadly departed.

Later, I saw a smartly dressed

middle-aged man,

standing by the nurse’s station.

He had a small, unreadable smile

on his face. 

As I neared I saw his widowed father.

His fine black suit was mussed.

He was splayed in a wing chair,

his tie undone.

A woman was kindly comforting him

with trite words, unheard.

He was barely recognizable.

Exausted.

Anguished.

Spent.

Contentment

2010/10/13

Contentment is a state of mind.

It doesn’t mean life is ecstatic,

or sad things pass us by.

It’s a goal,

a goal that, once reached,

never leaves,

despite the ups and downs of life.

My gratitude for my contentment

is bottomless.

I truly feel

my cup runneth over.