Comments about Dominique Lorraine
The Love Of A Sister
I know a girl with golden locks,
She never knew they shined.
Often, I smile and often, I talk,
I let her feel laughs, never pain.
She doesn’t hear of me- caring words.
I never knew her- wet eyes,
Her lips… a thin, thin line.
She is unknowing of my knowing,
Her sorrowful face still bright,
Her eyes… well-drawn masks.
Gloom is passed from room to room,
Like a disease, it affects all.
Simply for reasons of deafly told stories…
Unneeded- for I care, I do.
She strikes me as a certain type,
One for which I might have been ...