The Looking Glass
Rearranging this board amid the stillness of the early morn; silence
Takes her hand as shifting sands; careful the brush, a thoughtful stroke..
What's the hurry she says a cup of coffee and cigarette, there's no one there ?
She closes her eyes a batch of butterflies fly by, circling waterfalls in purple skies
With golden locks their diamond crowns; silver bells, tubular clouds; we were young.
Copyright © Rachel St.Cross | Year Posted 2013
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