Sunday’s Girl



Still working on Sunday

Leads one to believe

Some things never change

Same old tricks up the sleeve


She looks to herself

And the hard trail life’s brought

This wannabe sculptress

Gives commitment no thought


Her mirror reflects

Not a touch or a trace

Of regret or remorse

She lives for the chase


When a live one arrives

It is time to depart

On her way she soon goes

Without thought, without heart


What is it one wonders?

That left such a hole

In that space in between

Her face and her soul…



Copyright r.b.franklin 26/08/07


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