I see a hand that’s withered,
frail and getting old.
Clinging onto memories,
some stories left untold.
The table that you sit on,
an ancestor for sure.
Down into the forest,
there’ll be many more.
Once you waved from branches,
now crumbling away.
A topic of the artists mind,
in his art you’ll stay.
~ Liza
lizalizaskysaregrey©2016
I think this is understated and beautiful. So evocative. You’re a brilliant wordsmith ❤❤❤
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Thank you, that’s lovely 🙂 x
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Good poem that captures the fleeting of nature and age.
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Thank you 🙂
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Loved it Liza… a wonderful blend of old age and nature… and the pic of a yellow wrinkled leaf symbolic of a wrinkled hand is so awesome and creative…
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Thank you for such a lovely comment 😊
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It’s my pleasure reading your work👍
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😊😊
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Really beautiful.
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Thank you Phyllis 😊 x
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Your writing always is. although this one is extremely touching I must say.
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Yes, true though, everything ages, even us 😉
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especially us! roflmao
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