Was it not the same day?
The day when she had come running down the stairs, laughing
and had pierced the silence in the rooms.
The day when she had flung her arms around the stillness
in expansive joy and
throughout the night had gaped wild at the moon.
Was it not the same day,
when a garb was burnt
and she was called dead?
Dear Divsi,
ReplyDeleteIts really a special thing to be appreciated by someone so sensitive and beautifully expressive.