He tarried, asking for time and one more
Chance, as if sorrow was not his whim
True, women are his weakness, keeping score
His true colors bared - she can't forgive him
Outside, leaves of maple trees, birch, aspen
Turn to brilliant autumn tints, fanning awe
Sun muscles its way from grey, red jasmine
Her hopes - forgive herself, sharpen her claws
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Meeting the Bar, with Frank Hubeny. We are writing iambic pentameter. Pub doors open at 3pm EST.
