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Suddenly, a cap,
then a scarf,
finally a gray,
knitted sweater.
We are silent in our game:
White lamb,
gray lamb,
shaggy lamb.
Somewhere, a photograph remains
of me under the cherry tree and
the lamb resting its head on my lap.
We are silent in our game:
White lamb,
gray lamb,
shaggy lamb.
Somewhere, a memory remains:
my touch, a gentle ballet on your head
his blade, a silent waltz upon your throat.
White lamb,
gray lamb,
shaggy lamb.
In silence, we played,
in scream, you stayed.
About the Creator
Millie O
Published author and digital professional.
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Comments (2)
Oh wow. This gave me goosebumps!
I felt chills down my spine. Such a heavy flashback, with such a poetic twist. Good job!