Day 8: Ottava Rima

Will you come to the garden with me
and discover what I’ve found there?
You ask, “Whatever could there be?”
We walk, wind tossing our black hair.
I lift a stone—small—and point to the green.
It was all we could share.

Our secret, stored away from eyes prying.
Our secret, it was the one that left you crying.


Prompt here.

1 year ago • April/8/2013