My flower bowl lies shattered.
Tiny pieces of delicate blue
Are scattered across the floor
And the painted yellow rose
No longer has a stem.
I wanted to fill my bowl with violets,
But I wasn't thinking.
In taking it from the shelf
It slipped through my fingers
And became a pile of pieces.
Was it the same for you?
Were you just being careless,
Or was breaking my heart
Just a simple pleasure?
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Version 16961, "Pacino"; Copyright © 2009 Gather Inc. All rights reserved.


Comments: 26
well done. : )
I'm glad I found your little place on Gather.
Your poem has been featured.
Thanks for posting to http://poeticjourney.gather.com/