Her premature death left things undone
The warm smell of supper escaped
The kitchen no longer pondered on what meals she would make
The few bedrooms became depressed
The beds themselves could not rest
Knowing her hands would never make them again
Her husband never carried out the duties she left behind
The curtains remained closed all day
Furniture no longer felt the warm sun rays
Or casted its daily shadows on the wooden floors…
Her premature death left this poem unfinished….
Samantha Blake 2008©
sam! i love this. how the furniture is personified. the ending esp. captures it all.
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