The Well Worn Ring … 0108-2k12 - Poem by saadat tahir
(Plight of an abandoned elderly social worker)
Drag a well worn ring apart,
and ring the middle finger,
with a woeful lonely part.
Then crashing let it linger;
slide by cherry's dull gleam,
in the rutted trodden path.
On waves that lost steam,
rest hand on craggy swath.
Mingle bliss in sullen gloom.
Full fingered hand that once,
dealt many a pleasant groom,
drab now lies a forlorn dunce.
Pale and silent sentinel lamp,
on tatty sheets that nasty reek,
shows mortal's montage stamp,
by casting a pitted puffy cheek.
Lone and forlorn attic act,
gone youth's silk and soft.
Plays a miserable tragic fact.
Scarce carps the creaky loft.
No steps ascend a dreary door,
pudgy lids, lug a sickly moan.
No bristle nicks a strewn floor.
A silent cry stifles in a groan.
Toying the pendant's worn chain,
that clings to her swoony throb.
Sills and eyes trickle quiet rain,
as Grim, awaits a shivering blob.
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