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I hide behind words

To my favourite Smith girl

3 posts in this topic

My favourite poet died three days before Valentine's.

She was taken but shaken by disbelief

that not all was as it should be.

No support network

save the few words she could turn to

when winter wouldn't end within,

playing games with them.

Selection and indecision,

when all the major things have been decided

except where to place a comma,

or if majestic purple is a match for Prussian metal?

Silky, spiked helms.

A war was fought here long ago.

Oh Dear, don't bake

that dish anymore.

The children could not pretend.

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What's a smith girl?

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What's a smith girl?

A girl who goes to Smith College.

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