Unhinged
Unhinged, the tree hangs
delicately,
from the last,
broken bough.
She, passed
this way
in her fractile motion,
perpetual to the end
With hands clasped
behind,
her reckless eye wanders,
to my hourglass smile
Too long now
the old man reminds,
tired limbs
that rock aching heads
until faded
in cold faith
all dust
and time
Copyright © Michael Mccreadie | Year Posted 2011
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