Rotting On The Vine Poem by paul barnacle

Rotting On The Vine



The dream door closed as she gazed out,
Gripping onto tommorow.
Shocked at his anger, in their marriage.
Bluebell woods,
Nailed to a tree a waiting dream.
Wilting, her dream, rotting on the vine.

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paul barnacle

paul barnacle

Rugby, Warwickshire, England
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