Old Woman

Thu, 01/29/2015 - 00:30 -- Pxetry


White flows from her hair 
like leaves from a branch.
A flower of youth she was
until the waves of aging came
and went.
They came and went, 
like the wind, becoming old 
and frail as a stick.
She is not a stick you see 
for her wrinkles are
thunderbolts engraved 
by the daughters of Thor
Golden rings of beauty once
adorned her,
slowly disintegrating
until they became
rings of vine and time.
Her roots 
travel far and wide 
as she remains standing tall
for she is ancient 
forever etched into stone walls
She is the ancient tree 
that remains for centuries 
with white leaves and tree 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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