Cri de Coeur

in poem •  7 years ago 

She had silver hair
The color of moon
She was so fair
The snow would swoon
A halo crooked
Shape of a doughnut
Wings shattered to feathers
Just did not hurt
Among the humans
Did she just walk
Like a fowl
Engineered to quack
But still she lived
Days just few
And asked me
Whether I knew
Her days were numbered
But it was a pity
That I lived like
The king of a city
Waking every day
To find the sun
Rising, not knowing
My days were done.

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