Irma’s Gift

Irma’s Gift

 
Irma had this thing, she knew it was for real.
No matter how she tried, she never could conceal.
The more she made it suffer, the pleasanter it grew.
For failing fissures won’t reveal the spinning wheel.
 
To covet Irma’s gift would cause a certain envy,
Most would chalk it up to boards in passing frenzy.
The dust that fell would trickle forth in supple slime.
I could not steal, but only borrow what you lend me.
 
Smolder it, depress it, remove it from plain sight;
Is it possible we saw it, as the moment plunged tight?
Perhaps it felt too real and times, like bees, were meant
To search for more to package, with a bow, just right.
 
When opened, it would rattle gargoyles on roof tops.
It could singe a brow, then force its way on flip flops
To bow in reverence at its ever changing form,
Around it spins in radiance, let us hope it never stops.
 


Posted In: Poems

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