Among the moonlit thistle
in guilt-ridden fleece
weeping under thick coats of burden
Grief never truly sheared
whispered prayer trembling fear
Now spun and artfully woven
the heavy woolen blanket
emotionally frozen hopelessly folded on sale in
a quaint country store
A couple long seeking
a flawless loving cover
yet one more poor selection
challenged history on it’s
shaking shelf
In the pain and longing
forever’s chill winter night
lay still barely breathing
among the moonlit thistle
under a fear-spattered blanket
of secrets and lies.
