The sweetened tea devoid the sound
of twinkling ice, spun round and round,
lies tepid brown with soured taste
and blossom flowered floating mound.
The dentures sulk, devoid of paste,
out-gummed by laughs and mintage taste.
Her polished throne, no queen to bear,
just eyes white wall with doilies laced.
The room of living, rocking chair
wears arms of wooden silence there.
A frieze of hearth with ashes blown
stands monument to chilling air.
And from her bed, grey eyes unknown
glazed up to where her dreams were sown.
Though friends and kin, her richness known,
bejeweled by love, still lies alone.
) over at DversePoets, the prompt is about things that are missed..you might be missed if you don’t stop by..(