little girls never grow up
dressed in pink lace and roses
Arsione's pride
soon age infests once fair skin
with rings of roughen oak scales
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My Middle Son
Poetry by cassiopeiarises.blogspot.com is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
16 comments:
Ah, the inevitability of time. Nicely done.
Yes, this is a beautiful poem. As one who is aging and at the end of middle age, I will accept oaken scales because they are of nature and earth. Lovely images here, too.
ah, the changes that time brings. well portrayed.
This is a lovely poem. I read it and then Andree's poem and found myself nodding in wonderful, peaceful agreement.
I agree, and it is a lovely poem
Great observation of the effects of aging.
and indeed age does infest...wonderful phrasing!:) lovely!
Thank you Anthony. I am glad you liked it.
Melanie
Andree, I'm not far behind you. I hate getting old. Everything hurts.
Glad you read my poem and liked it.
Melanie
Sue, thanks for reading my poem Of course it's not about you and I.
Melanie
Thank you Sandy. I am glad you liked it.
Melanie
fwh, glad you liked my poem and thanks for your kind comments.
Melanie
Easy for you to say. Your young. LOL. Thanks Stan for reading my work.
Melanie
Aayushi. Thank you for reading my poem and I'm glad you liked it.
Melanie
But like the old oak tree, we become more significant as the years passed by. As the oak tree witnesses the changing times so are we bearing all the hard times and cherishing the good times.
A good poem from a great poet.
THe first line says it all.
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