Mercedes Webb-Pullman
Her world of air and water turned to stone;
on life’s great stage she knew she’d missed a cue.
With timid steps she exited, alone.
Her words, like flesh, struck sweetest near the bone
where blood runs hot, and pain rebirths as new
her world. When air and water turned to stone,
tormented by the wrongs she can’t atone,
she faced the truth she’d only tiptoed through
with timid steps. She exited alone
weighed down by failure. Harvests she had sown
became the famine that would soon undo
her world of air and water. Turned to stone,
she froze as time expired, white ashes blown
away like veils, exposing death’s allure.
With timid steps she exited. Alone
she walked her garden one last time. Well known
the path, the gate. One final sad adieu;
her words of air and water turned to stone,
with timid steps she exited alone.