B
I needed warmth,
so I burnt the words
that you wrote for me.
Upon a fire,
a funeral Pyre,
your memory.
A waft of smoke
that joined the sky
of echoes
slowing passing by.
By the Book (sic)
Bardly Writ
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Love this one, the opening lines are killers!
Thank you, Angela, dog-walking in the Cornish lanes is very helpful to the little Grae cells. G:)
Walking… I can only dream of it at the moment! Please enjoy it in my name as well 🙂
Are you off your feet? Does your metre need a lift? Have your syllables deserted you? Try Poet’s Anonymous. ‘Helpful advice for all your poetrical needs.’ G:)