Our Mother, Cloaked in Silence
Although she was our portal to the world,
with little pageantry we laid her down.
No trumpets blared, the flags full mast unfurled,
for it was small, the realm of her renown.
And yet the limbs were bare, the whole world brown
as though the trees she planted all were lief
to shed their full green finery in their grief.
The prompt today was cloaked. Also for the dVerse poets prompt, Rhyme Royal.The rhyme royal stanza consists of seven lines, (usually) in iambic pentameter. The rhyme scheme is a-b-a-b, b-c-c. It was the standard narrative meter in the late Middle Ages.