#4

 

A fly stole a kiss from her lips,
As she lay in the sun,
No roof o’er her head,
No breath in her lungs.

The winds lifted their dusty hands,
Caressed her tiny coarse feet,
As she in her life’s finery lay,
A majestic starched white sheet.

The smiles in the house,
Like the words she never learned,
Seemed to never exist,
To the world unconcerned.

The ants marched ahead,
A guard unarmed,
While crows swooped above,
To see off their ward unharmed.

The clouds rumbled in, single file,
To offer condolence last of all,
Till they, like the few present there,
Slowly allowed their tears to fall.

In the damp earth, they laid her,
Warmer than she’d ever been,
The soils embrace to shield her,
From the life she’d never seen.

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Author: emphadiate

Med student, chai lover, avid reader. Daydreamer extraordinaire. Slightly imbalanced.

16 thoughts on “#4”

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