Story.

Published March 31, 2015 by Shreya Rajvanshi

The willow tree sang next to the
Hard, stony bed, so rough,
Wearing a blanket of
Once upon a time,
Being supported by the
Soft, long pillow,
Of decayed fairness,
Rotten scent,
The heart which once pumped,
The lungs which once danced,
The eyes which would never
Open now,
The smile which had had its
Last bloom,
Lost in the hardness of that
Rough, long bed,
The girl near the willow tree
Now called “home”.

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8 comments on “Story.

  • Because of the subject matter, it seems inappropriate to say that I really like this. But, I do. 🙂 Like the words “decayed fairness.” Also, “the willow tree Now called ‘home.”

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