These things I carry.
These words I press
into soil.
Wind stirred.
I remember sunsets
from under
the mulberry tree.
Our little river.
My whispered prayer.
Now I run,
somewhere behind your eyes.
The humming of bees.
Watching from the window,
the nightly weave
of garden spiders.
About the Creator
Ashlee Campbell
A poet by trade dabbling in the art of fiction.
Reader insights
Nice work
Very well written. Keep up the good work!
Top insight
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
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Comments (1)
Loved this- thought provoking and great imagery!