by Jan Oskar Hansen
Hand written verses in a red folder
decorated with flowers;
She had written them in her youth
when waiting to see him walk by.
She read them for the last time and
tossed her girlhood into the fire.
A blue tongue of blaze devoured her
work, ashes of the past flew upwards;
Up the chimney flakes of dreams winged
and landed weightless in the snow.
Yet, she could not erase her poems as
they had bonded with her heart.
In a lagoon of old age she floated until
her heart and poetry parted.
Posted by David Evans
David Evans, Feature Editor