It was much like a grey ticker-tape parade,
...Coming in the dead of stoned frost...
Ice chips of memories chill,
...Choosing priorities, but at what cost? ...
A Given-Gift horse trailed,
...Hiding in a camouflaged beret...
Trotting herself onto the icy layers,
...That created this ice-cold day...
A carriage with wilted flowers,
...Some already dead from the cold...
Traveled it's path along in hypothermia,
...In this parade of: The Brass Ring, told...
A telltale trace, it remains,
...Even after all of these years...
It scolds and reprimands the guilty,
...With the Grim Reaper, of shame filled tears...
Talk about 'inspirational'? Ms Theo, you have created a remarkable depiction that is very vivid. Very nice stuff.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Merci beau coup, Lawrence, Merci! Theo