HER FINAL SPRING

WINTER her final Spring
in bed ridden fashion
such life fiercely battled
Industriousness bought
through pain and tears

Through force of life
and broad strokes of art
travels she made
upon creative youth

And Death spoke, assuredly
but crept in delicate fear
and begged a pardon
— a release of guilt

Her flower withered…
but not from existence
a pollination across hills
to the fields of other-there

:: 01-29-2014 ::

About EPRobles

Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love... View all posts by EPRobles

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