Burial Poem by Charl JF Cilliers
Burial
No morning suns will warm the bed you sleep in.
Now the only storms that rage burst from within
as flesh and skin start dwindling into bone.
And when new sap has risen from this rag-and-bone prison,
what can one say is done and what undone?
Thursday, October 15, 2015
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4/19/2024 5:52:43 PM # 1.0.0.1119
