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THE LACE

THE LACE
18 September 2009 at 13:33
Here is another one of my poems. Hope you enjoy it :)

Her veil did frame,

Her smiling face.

And down her back,

Were ribbons of lace.

Each fragile stitch,

Was held in place.

By love and sadness,

Tears and grace.

So many stories,

The veil did hold.

So many memories,

The fabric had told.

It started out,

Not as a veil.

But held a child,

Whose birth we’d hail.

The soft white lace,

Embraced each limb.

And to the church,

We’d carry him.

But as the joy,

Of birth had passed.

The lace was packed,

So it would last.

A few short years,

Would come and go.

When to the lace,

A girl did show.

The softness still,

Embraced her skin.

And joy did spread,

Amongst her kin.

Again the lace,

Was packed away.

Saved but for,

A rainy day.

When once more,

The lace was found.

Inside the box,

Each stitch was bound.

The young girl held,

The lace to see.

Each curving stitch,

And smiled with glee.

For tonight the lace,

Would hold each hand.

And make her feel,

As love demands.

But as the night,

Came to an end.

The girls soft heart,

The lace would mend.

For the love she found,

Was not to be.

And to the lace,

Her tears were free.

So now the lace,

Held not a birth.

But a broken heart,

For all it’s worth.

Once more the lace,

Was put away.

It’s perfect stitching,

Beginning to fray.

So many years,

They came and went.

When yet again,

The girl was sent.

She found the lace,

That held her tears.

And smiled a smile,

That calmed her fears.

For now the lace,

Would frame her smile.

And walk beside her,

Down the aisle.

It softly touched,

Her happy face.

Each single stitch,

That framed the lace.

She held the lace,

Throughout the years.

Knowing each stitch,

Would hold her tears.

Knowing the threads,

The lace combined.

Would hold her life,

And stories entwined.

And when she knew,

That it was time.

To leave this life,

And love behind.

She packed away,

Her precious lace.

Folding it gently,

Within it’s space.

A smile did spread,

Across her face.

When she did pass,

Her precious lace.

A young girl grinned,

Her eyes now wide.

Touching each stitch,

Along each side.

The old woman sighed,

As the girl held the lace.

Knowing the stories,

It held with such grace.

Hoping that even,

After she’s gone.

The lace would be held,

And the legacy lived on.

Michelle Slichter

Copyright May 26 2006

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#poetry