Wednesday, 3 July 2013


And the tender breeze aggravated, 
To blend into the storm that she was, each night,
To show her the tender affection that was,
Bestowed on her by them, when no one else did,
Increasing their pace, as they moved over,
Her honey skin, overcoming each obstacle rising,
Witnessing the effect they had on her,
Sifting their glory through her locks,
Reciting the song that she could only feel,
And the tender breeze that knew her.

And the grass stood up,
Like the very goosebumps on her skin,
Tickling her foot, as she walked,
Her calves as she sat, and,
Her shoulders as she lay on them, like,
They were her own, and she was all theirs,
The yellowing clovers, blanketing her,
Against the tiniest grains of dust, 
That stabbed her delicate casing,
Like cruelty against goodness, and as,
The little red ladies crawled over her hand,

Gifting her the sensations of togetherness, of her life,
And the ground that always comforted her.

And the stars shone brighter,
As she eyed eyed each one specifically,
Some in the joy of her scrutiny, while,
Some in jealousy of her own sparkle,
Like a diamond with dusted coal over, 
Waiting to be discovered,
And the celestes, dancing around, like,
Volumes of the chords, as if creating something for her,
And the stars that were her only guide.

And they all gave their best,
To make her feel at home,
To fill in the absence of warmth in her life,
Working in harmony, ignoring their grudges,
Just for her,
For she was the only one who ever loved them back.


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