The Final Dance
Strokes of peach, a blush of pink
Rose she was, he a commoner ant
This great divide made his heart sink
She was royalty, he of lowly descent
Clad in satin, in a fortress of thorns
As the winds came a laughing by
He watched her fall prey to their scorns
Their meandering trail, a sore to the eye
But her stately gait proved no match
As she swirled across the thorny hedge
Arrogant gusts swept the flower patch
She plummeted from the window ledge
Heartbroken, he hastened to be by her side,
Broken, Of fallen petals in his arms she died…..
A Shakespearean Sonnet published by me as a part of IBL; the Battle of Blogs, sponsored by WriteupCafe.com. Join us at our official website and facebook page.