Her beauty sat
uneasy on her,
it knew
the crow’s feet
and lines
would come
soon enough
and the skin stretch
until the bones
showed through,
but what
was a beautiful girl
like her to do,
but gaze at vanity's
mirror until the ripples
came like aging tides
Her Beauty Sat.
Her Beauty Sat.
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Re: Her Beauty Sat.
this poem would seem to speak to the old saying, "If you got it, flaunt it !"
so true, dadio....
so true, dadio....
the death of empathy is the birth of barbarism
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