Rowving Smith


8 Eight - Poem by Rowving Smith

It was your birthday
A beautiful summer morning
My eyes picked you up
Among the crowd

Getting down from the bus
Wearing my favourite dress
Tiny little white flowers
Sprinkled on black

Holding hands
Smiling at everybody
We walked down the hallways
Of the vast mall

Stopping at windows
Peeking into shops
Smiling at each other
Oh we were close

Close as two could ever be
Our hearts thumping together
Talking to each other
In a way we could never stop

In the middle of the courtyard
You stopped at the jewellers cart
Only thing we could afford
Were a pair of earrings

Eight tiny beads
Surrounding a black button
Sprinkled with rings
Of white silver

It wasn't the prettiest one
But it was the one you chose
Because you knew
How much I could afford

Then they were there
Sitting on your earlobes
Looking so precious
And smiling non stop

Your head lying on my lap
Eyes closed into half moons
My fingers used to count
Little eight beads

Sitting on that
Soft dainty cushion
Only gift I bought
Before the end

Of those eight months...!

[This is the end of the count, but I havent finished counting the days my finger tips yearn to feel those eight colored beads sitting on your soft earlobes]

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, March 25, 2008



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