Empty Baskets
With empty baskets
in both hands
she treads the cobbles
of her broken land.
Her home once
pale washed blue
a reflection of early
morning dew
where now a bomb
stained hue.
She's walking solemn corridors
still empty baskets in her hand
she looks for the reason
but she can't understand.
The flowers grew in the garden
the mid day feast displayed
she still walks with empty baskets
her sunken eyes displayed.
Copyright © Ann Anderson | Year Posted 2008
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