A poem I wrote when I was 17 for a creative writing class. That’s when I paid particular attention to literary devices. I actually never submitted it, but if I did I it have been titled, "A Cold Evening in Central Park." Yay for originality!
T’is a cold evening in Central Park
Stangers huddled in the dark
From rich gentlemen and poor peasants
They all cheer for joy to her warm presence
For although the wind sends a chilling blow
Heated hearts allow for them not to go
To see her skate along the glass of ice
A reminder of our lost Paradise
Her skin a compliment to Guinevere
Though she knowes’t her maker and revere
Golden hair kept up and show shoulders strong
She leaps in the air as music and song
With light from the lamp post bright’ning her smile
As well her heart that stretches for miles
She looks to the sky with her hazel eyes
And jumps with more pride and complete surprise
As the glow from the moon shines on her face
She receives gifts of both mercy and grace
So as the snow falls and this night we mark
Lest we forget she who skates at Central Park
No comments:
Post a Comment