Upon my soft upholstered chair
I sat and spoke into the air
For they were listening, you see
The ones who come and sit with me

I cannot see them, though I try
Their form is but a wistful sigh
More solemn than a flow'ring tree
The ones who come and sit with me

I have no proof that they exist
But still my thoughts of them persist
A secret kept? A fantasy?
The ones who come and sit with me

My audience in silence waits
As softly I pass though their gates

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justagirl about 11 years ago

did you have this written aside and just copied it during your six minutes?
in other words.. i think it's nice.

the-arraignment (joined almost 12 years ago)

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Story information

License

Public Domain

tags

poem imagination rhyme

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