Friday, December 12, 2008

Untitled

She clings on to her dusty secrets
All silk worm-woven; so tight,
Each thread so fine and difficult to unravel,
Only to be seen by the night.
She stands still and silent
Her feet planted firmly on the grassy mound,
Her head filled with the moon, the stars, the tide,
Her thoughts, never to be found.

- Sylvia Nevistic November 2008

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