she combed my hair flat with her
fingers
maternal and caring
the shiver I felt at her touch lingers
natural and uncaring
vernal and unsparing
a fair, quiet girl – Oh I wish I were
younger.
Her gaze, her pace, honest, set As her soul, trudging the komorebi path Ablaze and cold as the day
No comments:
Post a Comment
Avis sur la chose en question
Feedback on the thing in question