Posted in Poetry

estranged

Her tears shall be her heart

Her words the mumbled riddles

Her company an owl’s hoot

The laughing crowd her audience.

But what she is who cares. She runs up the hill to the top of the mountain to find her lost star before it dies lightless.

Author:

I write stuff of my interest that does not interest anyone in my blog. No grammarians, no copy editors, no marketers, no cynics are welcome.

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