Over Time Poem by Sally Plumb Plumb
Over Time
The house is empty.
She is too.
Hollow as straw
and black as blighted wheat.
Seated alone,
collecting past thoughts
instead of new ideas,
fearing total loneliness
and a late onslaught of tears,
clearing torn love letters
from around her feet,
then walks to the open door
and scatters them like confetti.....
over the sodden street.
Sally Plumb
Saturday, February 19, 2011
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5/6/2024 2:30:07 AM # 1.0.0.1119
