Thursday, September 03, 2009


She moves across the water, delicate and slow.
Purposeful she waits, counting the minutes of the world.
A touch from her outstretched finger -
So gentle, so meek - turns all to a silvery gleam.
And upon the frozen surface, she begins her journey.

Many have seen her grace, but none see the imperfections -
Faults on the smoothness of her skin,
The sagging of her shoulder,
And the soft sigh from her lips.

But still she walks, a figure so tall and sturdy,
Across the shimmer plane of her dream,
Looking forward to a time so distant
When all she touches doesn't turn to ice.

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