Figurative Language 7

She had no saying dark enough
For the dark pine that kept
Trying the window-latch
Of the room where they slept.

I shall be as peaceful as the leafy trees.

Your voice was a web to bind.

Having prepared their buds against a sure winter,
The wise trees stand sleeping in the cold.

For I knew his eyes
Like an old, old song.

Life is a frail moth flying,
Caught in the web of the years that pass,

I can scarcely breathe,
The darkness is so thick.
It stifles me,
And weighs so heavily upon me,

Are not my children as dear to me as falling leaves?

One could say that the earthquake that leveled the building shook things up a bit.

The sunflower droops to the lazy wave;
The wind sleeps--