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May 2014
I would brush my hair thrice a day
For her, my love
And with every stroke
I would sing the song she is so fond of.

I tie it in a dark blue ribbon
That reminds me of her,
I would walk for days
To smell her salty lure

Whistling winds steadily blow
Each strand of hair
Into a whirlwind
In the summer air

She caresses our hull
And we meet her
With open arms
We collide in a perilous blur

Her fingers engulf us
Wrapping and curling
Around the island of hope
That is now as worthless as tarnished sterling.

I feel her gently nuzzle my toes
dandle my ankles and past
She blanketed my body
And I held steadfast

Her icy touch gave me chills
And I looked to the mast
Strong and anchored
To a ship that would not last

As my last breath disappeared
I saw my hair
Floating in the whirlwind
That is now in the sea’s care.

And after all that
I say my last prayer
For not one to hear
And no one to bear.
Becca
Written by
Becca
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   Francie Lynch and ---
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