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OYSTER
Stoic she sits
As an oyster lacking a grain of sand
No Pearl of Great Price or wisdom to share.
Stoic she sits
A smile adorns her face while we hold hands,
Bereft of thought and without words to spare.
Stoic she sits
Cloudy sapphire eyes show nary a care.
Oblivion’s glide left her a blank stare.
Stoic she sits
Time’s wrinkles scribe not the soft silken face
Of the hollowed woman who remains there.
Stoic I sit
Copyright ©
David Drowley
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