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Afterglow
by Richard VinceMy hands are white now.
No longer the pale brown of
English summers, they presage
The snows that may
Eventually fall.
OthersÂ’ are made patchily red
By the early winter winds,
But I look at hers and
Wonder how she broke her finger.
It no longer bothers her;
It fails to suppress the joy
That is rooted deep within her
And shines indomitably as
She laughs and smiles.
Her face seems familiar to me,
But it may just be
That bright light I have seen
In so many others before;
The ever welcome warmth that
Banishes the cold of winter.
As she leaves, she leaves behind
Some of the light she brings
To the world; an anti shadow
Of herself to prolong the
Light of the smiling Sun.
12/03/2006 Posted on 12/20/2006
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Michelle Angelini on 12/24/06 at 06:03 AM Aren't there some people like this - no matter what they fill lives and rooms with their glowing presence. This lady must have been wonderfully infective to inspire you to write a poem about her. I hope she still lights your life with her sunshine glow or teaches you and many others how to steal the sun's light for themselves.
~Chelle~
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