Eleanor
Prompt: This vintage mirror reflects dark hair
In the corner of a barely lit room
A man sat in his comfy chair
Surrounded by the light of the moon
And the love that was no longer there
With everyday that passes
It just makes his heart sad
The flocking of black masses
Is all he had
He prayed to see her bright eyes
Just one more single time
Buried sorrow lies
At the single drop of a dime
He missed her soft dark hair
As smooth as milk
The kisses they did share
Was made of the softest silk
Oh my dear heart,
It cries out for my sweet Eleanor
Till death, we did part
I'll see her nevermore
A.D. Small
April 20,2023
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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