Her Story

Her jacket was dewdropped, 

And soaked in pain, 

Little droplets rolled down her cuffs, 

And stung like the spiked lick, 

Of some friendly shark. 

Her collar held high the hair, 

That wreathed her hidden face, 

A crown, A queen, 

With no name, 

And just these little memorable

Dots of darling moisture, 

A library of elusive leaves, 

That hide, in the stealthy guise, 

Of illegible ink and hard-won sense, 

Some painful histories. 


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