Bowed Head

Fictional narrative poems are strange to write..


We were the ones who’d never quit, they said

When we were young, we spied

When you were gone, I cried

When I was lost, you pried

I pried the worries of that bowed head.


We knew more than we should have, they said

We spied on them, the old

We pried, until they told

We cried to see it all unfold

It unfolded, the troubles of that bowed head.


We got more than we could handle, they said

The old smiled wearily

They told their stories clearly

“Unfold that paper, deary.”

Deary, she called me and bowed her head.


We couldn’t do it, move on, they said

Wearily we walked on

Clearly you were gone

Deary, me, a lonely song

A song, she sang no more, that bowed head.


We quit, it was a shock, they said

On my way, with weights to bear

Gone, troubled soul, don’t despair

A song in the night will get you there

Get you there, she was there, that bowed head.


Copyright © 2013 by My Red Leather Notebook

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