Tuesday, 2 April 2013

Ode to a Related Stranger

Porcelain plates are stacked in the room
Her soul lingers there as dust measures light gloom
On seeps her soul, lacking a shadow

Her antiques to others- acquire no age
Her soul’s in the kitchen,
Smelling richly of Sage
Time has here stopped as all senses are bathed

On wintery windows light sheens begin
Sparking fires will burn- ne’er again

Her hand looses her soul where it lays on the floor
Calm is collected and lungs quiver no more

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