Echoes of the Heart

Brows from the west wind, clinch and glint abreast. Bracelet she wears,rocks rhythm to country's souls. Her coloured oval Lips subtle the thought That she braises when it comes to domestics. Her subdue touch and crutch are her good sorts. Echoes of the heart, the chance that chest should date With no vowel vague; and apprehensive to many. Lo and behold certified and satisfactory core. When we she built up beauty with peace Our hearts long for day by day to feel and see? Despite giant writes and intact punchy speeches, Yet her dumb and deaf jokers move no inch. When will her peaceful procreations procreate peace? When will are heterogeneous veins vaunt brotherhood? When will her crowns suffice apartheid recurrences? Or peace will dwell after the extinct of all her utterances? ~A.O~ Entered into: Gail Angel Doyle's "Echoes of The Heart" Contest.