SlightlySane
September 28th, 2010, 09:35 PM
There’s a chocolate on the pillow
Where a woman rests her head,
Unbenounced to her,
By the morning she’ll be dead
She lived today age eighty-nine
Made her birthday wish to be just fine,
Not a day less, never a day more,
Spent on each unfamiliar floor.
She has lived through all these years,
That claim each wrinkle on her skin,
The birthday trips brought happy tears,
As hotel beds called her friend.
Each a day to this very own
A chocolate she would see,
Waiting on a pillow sewn
Of silk no less than free.
Like a candle of her very own,
The birthdays she had always known,
Were spent a day retired in bed,
A chocolate placed where she rests her head.
Where a woman rests her head,
Unbenounced to her,
By the morning she’ll be dead
She lived today age eighty-nine
Made her birthday wish to be just fine,
Not a day less, never a day more,
Spent on each unfamiliar floor.
She has lived through all these years,
That claim each wrinkle on her skin,
The birthday trips brought happy tears,
As hotel beds called her friend.
Each a day to this very own
A chocolate she would see,
Waiting on a pillow sewn
Of silk no less than free.
Like a candle of her very own,
The birthdays she had always known,
Were spent a day retired in bed,
A chocolate placed where she rests her head.