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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