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A Sorrowful Tale 
 
She turned the page in search of tomorrow; 
it wasn't there in the parchment fold 
but, she was sure, a watermark of sorrow 
offered itself for a story to be told; 
so she obliged with broad sweeping strokes, 
indian- inked words spilling the tale 
of love won and lost amid bicycle spokes 
and handle-bars skewed as if to impale. 
Perhaps her flourish was a little too free, 
embroidery a foe she mistook for a friend, 
for just as she reached the climax, you see 
her page overflowed and provoked a quick "End".