Breeze

Paint peeling from the window sill Long legged lady walking, In such a way All frail like a mouse without its tail She wishes not that of a picket fence But that of lattice. So that each time she gazes out Into her garden She is reminded of bramble pie Seeing her mothers eyes Who’s spirit lies in oak Samaras floating down into her hair Twirling the whirligig between her fingers Trailing with gentle fingers The mid ribs of little sprites wings

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Written by

Emski

24 / F / Durham

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