Broken Glass

BROKEN GLASS

Reds and purples in a pile.

Streaks in the sun.

Once a pane

entire and whole.

Now broken on the floor.

Thier creator is unknown.

He once was known to all.

The reds and the purples in the door

they were his before they came.

Breaking his door

they cast down his work.

The piles remained

after he was gone.

Left through

those terrible days

His reflection they held no more

as the years passed by.

War and famine

took their toll.

The creator of the reds and purples

was no more.

His creation of reds and purples

lie still forever.