Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2015
Look closely as she cries
and spy a piece of a fly.
Within her pupil, its eye.

Brown and green and black
and, there, you see?
Reflected in it,
is me

I knew a young woman
who wallowed, will cry.
And I'm not sure why,
I am so high.
Perhaps I'll die.
Jaime Nautte
Written by
Jaime Nautte
427
     Jillian Ross
Please log in to view and add comments on poems