An ashen stranger returns my gaze.Her eyes, the window of the soul, tell.Dull, spiritless with a deathly veiland deep blue gray circles beneath.She stares perplexed, mystified.Her hand touches her forehead.She winces in pain.She fumbles clumsily with her pills.I feel sorry for her.I turn off the brig...
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Loved it!
Gale
Wednesday, April 16, 2008 at 10:34 PM -
Untitled Comment
Cari
Wednesday, May 07, 2008 at 11:52 PMLoved it - very well written and so true to life.
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When will I have a job that understands migraines?
Posted 11/19 Comments (1)
It's not that I don't want to work. Migraines make it...
Great poem. That line about hand on forehead...I so identify with it. But what a surprise that last line was! Loved it!
Gale