The Troubadour's Envy
My Gramma lost the love of her life years ago, but that love IN her life never diminished.
She was born in the dawn,Christened by the morning dewGlowingLike the heavy crimson petals of a rose,Lively, and ever so deeply in love. Yet, with the duskAs light faded, and the warmthOf the setting sun gave wayTo the pale, cool glimmer of the moon,She grew tired and old. Still, in a lifetime of fascinating flowers,In a garden as vast as the heavens,None as lovely or vibrantNone as significant,Or captivating and beautifu...