Pretty Nails Poem by Connie Webb
Pretty Nails
My friend was dying
Of congestive heart failure
But she was still alert
And a volunteer
Came in to paint her nails.
And when I visited her
She went on and on
About her nails,
And how nice the young girl was
Who painted them.
And I never looked
On that last day
If her nails were painted,
Couldn’t really see them
Through my tears,
But if they were painted
I am sure it made her happy.
This is a touching observation, Connie. Sad, yet poignant and deeply meaningful. It's life's little pleasures that keep all of us going on. Well done. Love, CJ
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/5/2024 11:56:49 PM # 1.0.0.1119
God, Connie, youre fantastic! Falling for your story-telling styles. how you incorporate real life themes/tragedies and glorify them by wittling them down to their essences. Remind me of Stein with her grammar etiquette. care, sjg