The Gate

A song laden gate
Framed with ivy and
She stands beside it
Rests a hand on the
Rusted iron
She can remember so much
In her sanctuary
Of the days when he
Held her hand till
The sun slipped away
Drowning in a
Speckled sea of dark
Of the days when she
Sang to him her
Truest melodies
Of love and trust and
Of the rare times
When she gifted him her
Beloved words
Of the day when he
Walked away from her
And her gate
His hands in trembling fists
At his sides
As if
As if they wanted to hold her once
But he did not let them go
They flew away
With him
Leaving her and
Her gate of

-Megan M. Phillips


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