Yesterday morning;
[when I was younger]
I took a thimble on my thumb;
a shiny silver, polished to reflect,
capped my inquisitive digit.
I gave my thumb a swift shake
and the silver waltzed and span
like a child around a maypole.
When it slowed to still, I made it
shudder again, and again.
It wasn’t until, I saw the noon sun
sparkle upon it’s polished exterior,
that I ceased twirling the thimble.
Through noon and after.
I held the thimble tight;
encased within my palm where
the heat of the sun couldn’t steal
the sterling surface.
I regularly peeked at the savoured
silver as I watched the sun kiss
the orange horizon.
But, it wasn’t until late evening
[when I was older] and
reminiscing that I felt secure
enough to unwrap the thimble again.
But now it sat snug on my thumb;
it could not jump and dance.
Instead, it clung to my flesh
and struggled to catch the evening
glow on it’s weary, ashen surface.
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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interesting
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This Poem Could Almost Be Related To Love, Where You Were Afraid To Give It To Someone When You Were Young, So You Held On Tight For Fear Of Being Hurt. Then When You Were Older, You Opened Up, But It Just Didn't Work Right Anymore.
>.< Just My Take One It. I Prolly Took it Wrong.
. Rewarded 4
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