The Sorrowing
The stairs ascending, the blinding window sinks to my feet.
Wax and dust in the summer heat,
then a sudden coolness as if in a church.
Standing lost and undecided I hear children,
so I hide in the shadows of a wood-floored landing.
Petals strewn before me wilting,
like the stanzas of a forgotten poem.
Time to withdraw gracefully -
walking proudly no longer I must submit to retribution.
poem by Leslie Philibert
Added by Poetry Lover
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