Jessica's pony snorts in the field

gallops sadly

through the ripe wheat

of defeat.

Barbara's silence echoes from peaks

eternally

whispers a yelp

that screams for help.

Emily's poem flutters as it falls

inevitably

to the dusty floor

a metaphor.

Brittany's ball gown is stitched

cryptically

hears the door chime

way before time.

Natalie's Mother teeters on the edge

of something holy

throws a rose in the air

as a prayer.

Gwendolyn's tea leaves mark her unique

indelibly

as they dry there

safe in my care.