Bones Poem by Robert Eckstein
Bones
Cold rain will rinse my abandoned bones
And hot sun bleach them white.
Flesh gone, my sins will not be visible,
But many hurts and injuries will show.
Ill-mended breaks,
And angles nor quite right.
Friday, November 25, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: death,fate,sin
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4/27/2024 7:32:10 PM # 1.0.0.1119
