The Face on the Envelope

Your hands are slim yes,
But not like a models,
Thin and dry like a twig,
A sapling dried by desert wind,
Oh and your eyes,
What eyes they are,
Deep as moon craters,
Sinking right back into your head,
You mock haute couture,
With dung coloured rag,
Your wounds I think must be inside,
With little water,
You cannot spare the tears,
Consumed by cracked earth.


Blogger iamnasra said...

This was really different poem...as the way you have apporach your subject...I loved reading it...I wonder why no one had noticed it...it carries so much

7:32 PM  
Blogger Sue hardy-Dawson said...

Thank-you Iamnasra, I got this in an email it took a while to find. You have a really interesting blog with some beautiful poetry.

7:58 PM  

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