Tuesday, March 7, 2017

Surviving (Poem)


before you
she shook her hands

motioning the signs
of prayer to the unbeknown

her words seemed to burn
like fire in the field

nothing surviving there

what you are she sees
rose like thistle in wind

vanishing like water
into too-soft ground

and like the field flower
that wants rain

she comes thrice bled

© 2017 Maureen E. Doallas

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