Wednesday, 16 December 2015

Rust Covered Dew

His hands were gnarled,
hard pitted, with splinters. 
Remnants of long days,
of toil.

Smelter and hot metal,
thread deep
within his skin.

She happy in her lost youth,

joyous in loves past dream.
Hair flowing carefree,

and a smile that

like the brightest sun,
delights everyone.

Then like rust covered dew,

that fateful day.
Bleary eyed,

sleep deprived.
Metal folds like giant waves,
rolled into the stream.
Where she now laid,
that dreadful day.

He fell asleep,

some people said.
No witness saw

the blood she shed.
No longer smiles,
but tears we saw.
For neither now go
on no more.

Copyright© 2015 Deborah M. Hodgetts