The weather forecast promised sun
but it rained on Birdsong instead;
so I stayed here and felt guilty.
Your surgeon promised you'd be better
but you died in my arms instead,
I staying here feeling guilty.
We never meant to let you down
but promises are autumn flowers,
hope in ephemeral colours,
sweet scents blunted by dolour
of winter's first frost which bites
too soon. Bites too hard.
This grey weather suits my mood;
I'm so afraid of spring's new becoming,
efflorescing into summer, knowing
I will stay anticipating all my colourless
seasons without you.
You are there. I am here,
feeling guilty just for being.
Congratulations to PoemHunter for selecting this poem as POD MEMBER for the day. Exceptional! ! !
Congratulations on POD, dear poet. May God bless you
2. The caption of the poem shook me by my heart! Inimitable
Poignant, no, melancholy poem. " winter's first frost.. bites too soon. Bites too hard." Excellent metaphor, accentuates the mood and make up. Loved it. Exudes true and genuine talent. All the best, dear poet
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
An excellent poem! Not one to be forgotten! Glad you received Poem of the day!