Through The Paned Window
Why are you so hard on yourself?
I love you just the way you are,
with your withered coat and wet scarf
dangling like a spotless chandelier.
The snow banks in Montreal are high,
but I can see your trace, and silent grace
and tin cup through the paned window.
The precipitation melts your face,
distorting your expression through the
aged glass; broken, when I threw
ancient stones to get your attention
as a child.
I wanted a friend.
The honest kind.
Copyright @ By Author V.S.Atbay
From Book: Epiphany, A Collection of Poems.
Publisher - Friesenpress, 2013