Her color is mahogany
a dull brown she always carried
a constant thing
close to her heart,
it is never missed
She has no sudden epiphany
never has she married
though she hasn't had many
proposals with a ring
she'll only settle for mahogany
Her hand never held; kissed
she never leaves her hearth
brilliantly she sings
"Never am I harried!"
not with her mahogany
No one remembers her being buried
only her in the street; retching
no, never was she fancied
now she lays; her heart doesn't start
her hobbies were not varied
Stepping into the mist,
"What was my epiphany?"
but she did not reminisce
she had lost her mahogany
Author notes
Right. It rhymes. Mahogany is going to be stuck in my head for centuries now.
A contest entry
- ||| Write to My Rhyme Scheme ||| by Luken.
430 points, ended January 2, 2008, 4 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
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