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”.


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.”

  • Leave a Reply

    Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

    You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

    Google+ photo

    You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

    Twitter picture

    You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

    Facebook photo

    You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


    Connecting to %s

    %d bloggers like this: