Treasures
On the cusp of a stranded daze
a chance is born
Straddling each strand of
a falling raindrop
Accompanying its fate a crust
soon forms
Wavering from solidity
to pangs
The eyes shut in reverence of
a faintly gaze
That renders all chances unseen
In the dazzling array of sight
two tears reverse
In the swelling cloud of woe
true treasures ply
Copyright © Lebo Bopalamo | Year Posted 2019
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