She sits and she waits,
it is what she is good at,
Whilst waiting she watches the world
A year or more gone by,
another decade,
then a score,
as each year ever closer to her maker,
so her eyes are drawn to the fore.
What is it she sees in the unseen space that neither you nor I may enter?
is it black and white,
day or night,
a sunburst hewed magenta?
The laughing eyes of the unborn child,
holding fast to life giving placeanta.
Often asked the question,
seldom if ever answered,
what make of you this world?
When a child would be a dancer.
Alone she sits alone she waits,
She is used to it by now,
But deep down in her soul she knows,
He will get back here somehow!
A contest entry
- people watcher by zillion.
300 points, ended May 7, 2008, 10 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
yes, don't they always...
Adding your comment:
