Warm it was, your mother’s hand.
She waited at the school bus stand.
You won’t believe how young she was
When dreams caressed your cheek unplanned.
Linked to dVerse Poetry Forms. I am hosting at dVerse with the ruba’i or rubaiyat form.
Walking Home
Tag: Hand
Skin
Skin is what I see, not what’s within.
Castle walls might block me, thick or thin.
When they crumble mysteries begin
To lock outside whatever went right in.
Photo: “My Right Hand” by the author linked to K’lee and Dale’s Cosmic Photo prompt with the theme “skin” and Trablogger’s Mundane Monday.
Poetry, Short Prose and Walking 