It's what happens all in time
As she tries to save her grace
A long dress torn into lines of white linen
She tries to salvage her grace
It's what happens in desperate time
This fall, this tattered hopelessness in torn linen
I met a stranger at funeral procession. I wondered who had died.
The stranger said: A life as a problem unresolved.
I asked if he knew the departed as a name.
He said, No.
I looked around at old faces, and could speak to no one.
I just walked and wondered who had died.
Poetry Pantry #350
13 hours ago