Eyes closed,
half grin of peace,
she walks,
assured.
A still life,
skin the darkest shade of earthen clay,
soiled cloth drapes,
waist,
breast,
head.
Regally,
unbelievably,
projected in the corner of a photo,
ten follow behind,
her leading stick
she to the left,
they to the right,
all blind,
The spirit walks.
*www.Goldenphant.com
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem