"WHERE MEMORIES COME TO REST"
Wednesday, 27 May 2015
It was not the dress that she was used to,
They weren’t the clothes she used to wear,
It wasn´t her usual image, that she once knew,
What on earth was that, now replacing her hair?
What happened to that suit of her satiny skin?
Nipped & tucked tightly, in peachy soft pink?
When had those stitches worn & frayed so thin?
And her hair turned to grey, from its ebony ink?
Her garment now, was merely an old loose cloak,
Hanging about her bones, now all tattered & worn,
Her gloves & shoes, now were gnarled as old oak,
Her garb, moth eaten silk, of living years, now torn.
5/27/2015 07:16:00 pm
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