The Outcast - Poem by Valsa George
It rained on and on.
The fire in the hearth had long died out.
Vultures swooped down to feed on flesh.
Half willing, half resenting,
Surrendered, rather Subdued,
Desire spilled over,
Waves surging past the log.
Purse strings loosened,
And silver coins tinkled.
The toil not wasted!
The reel of Time unwound itself,
And the scenes, constantly replayed.
‘Exploring hands encounter(ed) no defence'.
Each day closed in smutty h(r) ut,
When the h(r) ut turned a slut,
She started to rot.
Feeble she grew,
Languid she became,
She lives an outcast.
A wild flower, wilted by the wind!
A luscious fruit, blighted by the worms!
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